Despising Draco Malfoy
by WrtrGrl
Summary: Draco is acting stranger than usual when it comes to Potter and his fellow Slytherins are determined to find out why. Hermione catches wind of a certain bet about her best friend and decides to take the Slytherins for all they're worth. An unfolding romance as told by Harry and Draco's friends. Rated M for violence and swearing. Updates weekly on Sundays.
1. A Beginning

Story long Disclaimer: Hogwarts and all her characters belong to the wonderful J.K. I am, of course, just playing in her sandbox.

Cover Art Credit: upthehillart/art/School-boys-627882420

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Chapter One

 _A Beginning_

 ** _Snape:_**

Loose stones scuffle down the street ahead of two figures as they walk down the crowded, cobblestoned street. Severus glances sideways at Draco, observing all the familiar signs of teenage surliness, and feeling just as ill-equipped to deal with it as he always has.

He contemplates opening a dialogue, but knows that Draco—like him—isn't the type to suffer idle chit-chat, and without anything else but the obvious to speak about (which, neither of them seem willing to broach) Severus doesn't see a way out of the excruciating awkwardness of silence.

He grits his teeth and resists the urge to sigh.

How is it he can manage the intricate web of lies he has to weave between serving Dumbledore and the Dark Lord without so much as breaking a sweat, and yet dealing with his Godson on a personal level has him at a loss of words?

Comfort has never been his strong suit.

He can almost picture Dumbledore's non-too-subtle smug smile. 'You need to get to know your students, Severus. To be a teacher you cannot merely teach. You must _connect_.'

Severus rolls his eyes. God, the man is insufferable. He can't leave Severus alone even on his day off.

His thoughts are broken by the thickening of the crowd, and Severus is jostled sideways into Draco. He scowls, resisting the urge to snarl at the idiot woman who ran into him.

Draco, on the other hand, snaps out a sharp, 'Watch it!' that could cut through ice.

There's a hint of that familiar Malfoy superiority in that tone, but mostly it's just irritation, and Severus wonders if spending so much time with the boy really is a good thing after all.

 _'Lucius is taking this family down a path I fear we won't come back from. He is no longer a man I want my son to emulate. I need you to guide him, Severus. I need you to be there for Draco where his father can't be.'_

How could Narcissa ask him such a thing? Furthermore, how on _Earth_ did she think him any sort of role model? Every choice he has made in life has led to nothing but disappointment and, in some cases, death.

Despite his outward nature, his life is not one he would wish on his Godson.

Next to him, Draco pauses, and Severus turns in the direction that has caught his eye. Through the pressing crowd Severus catches a glimpse of a shiny broom handle, and yet again resists the urge to sigh.

'Go on then,' he mutters, and Draco's gaze flashes over to him, somewhat sheepishly. 'I'll be in the apothecary when you're done. Linger too long and you'll be on your own.'

He adds the last part as an afterthought, half a threat and half a promise, and isn't sure which way he intends to mean it. Besides, they both know that Severus is likely to spend just as much time browsing ingredients as Draco is ogling over broomsticks.

Draco throws him a grin (a rarity these days) and nods, 'of course,' he says, a smirk slips easily into place. 'I would expect nothing less.'

Then he's off, sauntering through the crowd toward the broom display, easily manoeuvring his way through the bodies—as if it were his born right to be at the head of that crowd.

Severus rolled his eyes. 'Sorry Narcissa,' he mutters under his breath. 'But there are some things even I cannot undo.'

He slips into the stuffy, too-dark atmosphere of the little apothecary with a small sense of relief. It's cool in the twilight of the store and there is perhaps one or two other people lurking in the shadowy corners of the aisles. _Much_ better.

'Can I help—'

'The usual Hogwarts supply,' says Severus, cutting the little man off as he comes bustling up to him with an entirely too bright smile. 'Plus extra of everything on the sixth year list—it's all on the Hogwarts file,' he adds at the baffled anxiety that spreads across the clerks face. 'I'll be in your rare and exotics section, I expect you'll be done by the time I come back.'

The sputtering confusion isn't as satisfying as it usually is, and Severus reflects that seeing as he is no longer Potions Master, it seems a waste of his time to still be doing the school's shopping. Yet…he had agreed, hadn't he? And why? He was glad of his new position. It was what he wanted. Furthermore it was what the Dark Lord wanted.

Dumbledore thinks he's doing Severus a favour. That Severus _likes_ going to the apothecary, and, in fact, he does. Yet, that doesn't stop him from seeing the truth. There's only one reason he wanted Severus to do the task, and that is the fact that he doesn't trust Slughorn. Not that Severus blames him. He doesn't trust Slughorn either. After all, if it weren't for _him_ than everything—the Dark Lord, the war—would be very different.

His concentration is broken simultaneously by a shrill scream beyond the walls of the cramped little store, and by the familiar tingle of pain that itches along his left forearm that almost causes him to drop the jar he is holding.

'Damnit,' he hisses and shoves the jar back onto the shelf as several more screams fill the air.

The floor shudders barely a moment before the sound of an explosion pulses through the room.

Severus knows what's happening, but not _why_? He knew nothing of an attack, though he knew others were clambering for one.

Bloody Bellatrix, he thinks, a second before he realises his biggest problem.

 _Draco_.

Severus bursts out into the chaotic street. People shove and push, desperate to flee the bolts of reds, yellows and oranges being flung throughout the street. At the far end of the street Severus sees four people dressed in the familiar black robes of Death Eaters.

The window display where he'd left Draco is already empty, the mass of people having bolted. Severus scans the fleeing people for a flash of that white hair, but his godson is nowhere to be seen.

'Damn,' he mutters and turns sharply, away from his fellow Death Eaters and shoving through the crowd.

He thinks he hears a familiar cackle of laughter as the Death Eaters push through the street behind him. Glass shatters. Explosions shake the ground. People scream. He sees a flash of red as auror's begin apparating in to defend the street. He hears a shout he recognises, and turns to see one of the Order darting out of a side alley to join the fight. He could stop to help. He _should_ stop to help.

But then what use would he be? Better to stay out of the spotlight and focus on finding Draco.

Severus darts into a nearby storefront where there's a small crowd of people cowering in the back corner.

'Are they still out there?' someone asks, but Severus ignores them.

He's trying to think. Draco is smart. Severus would like to think he's smart enough to have gotten the hell out of Diagon Alley the minute the attack started. He knows Lucius has been training Draco to apparate but he has no idea whether or not the boy has mastered the ability.

Short of apparating, the only other options are Floo or portkey. Seeing that Severus has the portkey that brought them here (and the fact that Draco didn't come to find him immediately) Severus can only assume that Draco was caught in the crowd and has decided on the former option.

Taking a quick look outside the store front, Severus sees the four hooded figures have split up. Two are engaged in a vicious duel with three red-robed aurors, the third is halfway down the street exchanging hexes with a pink-haired witch that can only be Nymphadora Tonks, the forth is missing.

Another explosion rocks the street, and Severus is half thrown from the storefront from the force of it. He throws a hand up instinctively, protecting his face from the shower of glass as the windows shatter, though he barely hears the sound, being half deafened by the sound of the blast.

A shrill laugh echoes out from a street over, and Severus scowls.

'Fucking Bellatrix,' he snarls.

He hesitates, makes a split second decision to trust that Draco was smart enough to get the hell out of there, and darts down the street in the direction of the echoing blasts.

Cover or not, Bellatrix has to be taken care of.

He strides down the street, flinging shields and reinforcement spells at the buildings as he passes. He keeps his head down, trying not to draw attention to himself even as he grabs two teenagers by the scruff of their necks and shoves them toward the gaudy store front of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. Both Weasley twins are there in the front, ushering people into the depths of the store, and one of them gives Severus a nod and a wink as they yank the two teens away from Severus and into the store.

'We got it handled here,' he says, and nods after echoing sounds of explosions.

Severus doesn't respond, taking off down the street without a further thought to the duo. If anyone could handle themselves, it was those two; and even as he thinks this, one of the twins shouts something, and a small blast behind him erupts, filling the street with a pungent smell he recognises. Glancing back, a sliver of amusement trickles up his spine as he sees the knee high swamp that the street outside their shop has become.

That amusement vanishes though, as he rounds the corner and sees the blood strewn street beyond.

Two auror's are engaged with Bellatrix, who is still laughing like a madwoman, and beyond her, in a widening pool of blood, lay Harry Potter and—to Severus's horror—Draco.

His breath stops and he is frozen to the spot. Bellatrix is distracted by the auror's and hasn't seen him yet. He has time. Yet he doesn't move. Conflict swarms through him as he realises he'll have to choose. He'll have to choose between either his godson, or the son of the woman he loved.

But before he can, before he can make this impossible choice, Draco (who hasn't seen Severus enter the street) reaches out, his face contorting with pain as he grasps hold of the front of Potter's robes and, with what is clearly a monumental effort, apparatus them away with a loud pop; leaving only two large smears of blood where the two of them had lain.

* * *

 **Note to the reader:**

This story has an experimental structure. The narrative is about Harry and Draco, but more often than not the chapters are from the POV of someone else. In the first 18 chapters there are 12 different POV's, and I still have more up my sleeve, so if you're not prepared to jump heads a bit then this story is not for you.

The main narrator is usually Blaise, but I use pretty much whoever I feel is best suited to tell the story for that particular chapter. There's no pattern to the POV I'll be using next.

There are secrets and puzzle pieces behind the fluff, but rest assured that there is a method to my madness; and that (if you're willing to have a little patience) I'm sure that you'll enjoy this story. So far I've had a pretty positive response and I'm excited to share the rest with you. I have many plans and I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I do.


	2. Odd Behaviour

AN: Howdy all! Thanks to those who have followed already!

My usual upload day will be every Monday night (in Australia), but if I get ahead of schedule (hoping to be writing ten chapters ahead of where I'm posting), then I'll upload a second chapter on Thursdays. Hope you all enjoy! It's a little more serious than I'd planned at the moment, but it'll lighten up very soon, I promise! And just so you guys know what to expect, I plan to cover all of sixth year, seventh summer, seventh year, and possibly a tiny bit after school.

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Chapter Two

 _Odd Behaviour_

 _ **Hermione:**_

Ron pushes down the corridor of the Hogwarts Express, eager to find Harry's compartment now that the prefects meeting is over. Not that he'd paid much attention. Hermione sighs and resists the urge to scold him. Honestly, he could at least _try_ to be grateful for the position.

She supposes, though, that at least he'd shown up. Unlike Draco Malfoy, who didn't even bother to show his face.

Hermione makes a point of glancing in at the usual Slytherin compartment as they pass. Her eyes scan the room quickly through the open door before switching to the compartment across the hall when she doesn't see him. They've stretched out across two compartments this year, leaving the doors open so conversation can pass between them.

Pansy Parkinson lounges in the doorway of the second compartment, and gives Hermione a high arched sniff of superiority. Hermione rolls her eyes and ignores her.

'Shirking your responsibilities as usual, Malfoy?' Ron says, pausing just outside the compartment to give Malfoy a disgusted look.

A flash of pale blonde hair catches Hermione's eye as Malfoy glances out at them. A scowl flashes across his face, but he doesn't say a word. He simply turns back to the window, his elbow propped up on the sill and resumes staring out at the flashing countryside.

Hermione frowns.

'Why don't you crawl back under that rock you came from, Weasley,' Parkinson sneers.

Ron scoffs and continues on, shaking his head and seeming unbothered by the complete lack of response from Malfoy. Hermione glances back at the blonde once more, seeing the tautness to his shoulders, the shadows under his eyes. Eyes that meet hers in the reflection of the window. His gaze narrows, then flickers and drops.

'Why don't you take a picture?' Parkinson scowls.

Hermione rolls her eyes again and follows Ron. The itching need to know creeps up her spine and she has to squash it down. Besides, she has other things to worry about besides Malfoy's unusual lack of need to be the centre of attention.

Like the group of girls heading towards them, giggling and whispering. Talking about Harry.

Hermione frowns, slowing her pace as she and Ron approach the girls.

'—just have to try harder,' one of the girls is saying.

'Oh don't worry,' says a pretty girl with long brown hair, stopping outside a compartment door. 'I'm not giving up. Harry'll realise eventually that—'

The girl cuts off as Hermione passes, giving Hermione a rather sour look and pointedly slipping inside and closing the door. Hermione raises her eyebrows, glancing back over her shoulder at them and wondering what exactly that was about.

Ron, of course, doesn't notice and not for the first time Hermione wishes she was blessed with the same blissful ignorance with which Ron seems to breeze through life with. She wishes she could turn off her ability to observe. It's like a curse. An irresistible curse. She sighs.

To her surprise, Ron glances back at her. 'Alright?'

She offers him a faint smile. 'I guess,' she says. 'Actually, I'm a bit worried.'

Ron pauses, turning sideways to look at her. 'Worried? Why?'

She shifts her weight, eyes darting up and down the corridor (which isn't empty). More than a few students are watching them, gazes curious as whispers echo around them. Ron frowns and glances about, only just seeming to notice. He scowls.

'Vultures, can't they see Harry's not here,' he mutters.

'They aren't looking for Harry,' she says. 'Well, they're not _only_ looking for him. They're staring at us.'

'Us? Why?'

Ron's complete bafflement is almost endearing.

'Because of what happened at the Department of Mysteries. I expect Neville, Luna and Ginny will be receiving the same scrutiny.'

Ron snorts and shakes his head. 'Bonkers,' he says. 'It's all just bonkers. You'd think people would've forgotten all about that with all the attacks there's been this summer.'

'Not really,' says Hermione. 'After all, the Department of Mysteries is where it all started. Now that Voldemort is out in the open, the attacks are only going to get worse.'

'They're already getting worse,' Ron mutters, and rubs at a lingering bruise on his arm. 'So what're you worried about?'

She draws level with him and keeps her voice low. 'Actually, it's about the attack…and how Harry went missing.'

Ron frowns, then he sighs and rolls his eyes. 'Harry?' he asks. 'C'mon 'Mione, you're not still on about what happened at the Alley are you?'

She purses her lips and glares at him. 'Yes I _am_ still on about that. You don't think it's strange? You don't think it's weird that he can't explain where he was? Even to _us._ '

'Jesus Hermione, it was an _attack_ , he got _lost_. Hell we all got lost. Give him a break. Don't you think he's dealing with enough at the moment?'

Somehow Hermione manages not to throttle him. Of course Harry was dealing with enough and that is exactly _why_ she's worried about him. She grits her teeth and hisses at him, 'Lost for _four hours_ , Ron? In Diagon Alley? I've asked him about it and he can't even describe where he was. Not to mention that limp—'

'So he sprained his ankle! He was running from Death Eaters. I think he was more concerned with getting away from them than remembering _exactly_ where he was.'

'What about the blood? What if something happened and he doesn't remember, Ron? What if someone _did_ something to him?'

'Jesus Hermione,' he says again, and shakes is head. 'Look, I get it. You're freaked out. _Everybody_ is freaked out. But Harry's already told us everything that happened. He's _fine_. Just let it go, would you?'

Hermione does let it go, but only because they've arrived at the compartment. Instead she observes. And she notices.

Harry sits inside next to Neville and across from Luna. There are shadows under his eyes, like the have been the last two weeks, and Hermione wonders just how much sleep he's getting between the nightmares that aren't as secret as he and Ron think they are.

Fine. Bah!

Ron drops into the seat next to Harry, nodding at Luna and Neville, leaving Hermione to sit across from them.

'Hi Neville, hi Luna. Guess what?' Ron adds, turning to Harry. 'Malfoy's not doing prefect duty. He's just sitting in his compartment with the other Slytherins, we saw him when we passed.'

Harry sits up straight and it's the liveliest Hermione has seen him in days. Except there's a tightness around his mouth and eyes. He clenches his jaw, a reaction she recognises as him trying to hide pain.

She narrows her eyes.

'Really?' Harry asks. 'Why?' _What's wrong?_

For a moment Hermione swears he says the last two words. It's in his voice, in the upward infection of an unfinished sentence, in the concern that flashes across his face and underlines his tone. It's in his eyes and the way he shifts forwards slightly, fixated on Ron's response.

Ron, as usual, doesn't notice. Instead he shrugs and leans back in his seat.

'Dunno. Stupid git's just making more work for the rest of us of course. Not like him, though, is it? Why isn't he out there bullying first-years?'

'Dunno,' says Harry, but he looks distracted, his gaze falling away from them as he chews on the inside of his mouth.

'It was odd,' says Hermione, and pretends not to notice the intensity in Harry's gaze as it snaps back to her.

'Odd?'

She shrugs, dragging her answer out, watching for Harry's reaction. 'He didn't say anything when we walked passed. Ron, of course, made some snide comment—'

'I did not—'

'Yes, you did. Anyway, you know how he is. Normally he'd bite back and say something perfectly horrid, but instead he just…ignored us.'

A frown draws Harry's brows together. 'Oh,' he says, and chews on the inside of his mouth.

'Git,' Ron mutters.

'Perhaps it's more wrackspurts,' Luna suggests. 'Harry had one earlier.'

Hermione raises her eyebrows, but knows better than to argue with the odd Ravenclaw. She shakes her head and says,

'Maybe he preferred the Inquisitorial Squad? Maybe being a prefect seems a bit tame after that.'

'Maybe,' Harry mutters, and he glances up.

Uncertainty flashes across his face. He runs a hand through his hair, his gaze darting around the compartment before fixing back on Hermione's face.

'You don't think—'

The compartment door slides open and a breathless third-year girl steps inside.

'I'm supposed to deliver these to Neville Longbottom and Harry P-Potter,' she falters, as her eyes meet Harry's and she turns scarlet.

She's holding out two scrolls of parchment tied with violet ribbon.

Whatever Harry was going to say is lost to the perplexing that replaces his uncertainty. He and Neville take the scrolls addressed to each of them and the girl stumbles back out of the compartment.

Ron leans over. 'What is it?' he demands as Harry unrolls his.

'An invitation,' says Harry and he sounds confused.

'Who's Professor Slughorn?' asks Neville, looking confusedly at his own invitation.

'New teacher,' says Harry. 'Suppose we'll have to go, won't we?'

He sounds disappointed, and Hermione doesn't blame him. Though she suspects they are disappointed for different reasons.

'But what does he want me for?' asks Neville nervously, as though he is expecting detention.

Harry shrugs. 'Let's just get it over with.'

He sounds tired, and as he pushes up to his feet he winces. He keeps his weight shifted to one side and Hermione notices the way he takes care to keep his arm away from his ribs. His eyes catch hers, before dropping away again.

She can't help it. As he pushes out of the compartment with Neville on his heel, she thinks of Malfoy, and the similar way he had looked at her.

Hermione bites her lip and not for the first time this summer she wonders what Harry's thinking.


	3. Snivelling Sycophants

Chapter Three

 _Snivelling Sycophants_

 _ **Ginny:**_

Horace Slughorn, Ginny decides, is nothing but a snivelling sycophant. She leans against the wall behind the man, her nose wrinkled as she watches him gush over the boys in the compartment, one by one. Of course, she's the only girl; and only because he happened to be walking by when she hexed that arrogant prat Zacharius Smith.

She shifts her weight and rolls her wand between her fingers, listening as Slughorn starts on about Harry and the Department of Mysteries. If Slughorn wasn't a teacher, she'd show him just how good her Bat-Bogey hex is right up close.

Zabini gives a tiny little cough that was clearly supposed to indicate amused scepticism. Fire burns in Ginny's gut and she glares at the tall Slytherin boy.

'Yeah Zabini, because _you're_ so talented…at posing…' she says fiercely.

She means it too, he is good at posing. Shame he's such an arrogant jerk, or she might be inclined to think him attractive.

'Oh dear!' chuckles Slughorn comfortably, looking around at Ginny. 'You want to be careful, Blaise! I saw this young lady perform the most marvellous Bat-Bogey Hex as I was passing her carriage! I wouldn't cross her!'

Zabini merely looks contemptuous. Ginny crosses her arms and glowers at him.

'Anyway,' says Slughorn, turning back to Harry. ' _Such_ rumours this summer of the Department of Mysteries. Of course, there's the summer attacks as well. You were there, too, weren't you? At Diagon Alley?'

'Yeah,' mutters Zabini. 'Him and most the school.'

Ginny scowls. Maybe she'd show him her hex up close too. Except, loath as she is to admit it, he has a point. It wasn't as if Harry was the only one there when Diagon Alley was attacked. He certainly wasn't the only student.

'Yes of course—but Harry, there in the thick of it all? So many sensational stories. In fact, I heard that you took on Bellatrix herself—'

A strange look crosses Harry's face at Bellatrix's name. 'I…sorry, I don't feel well,' he says, cutting off Slughorn.

He certainly doesn't look well. His face has gone white and he looks as though he might throw up.

Zabini and McLaggin jerk back out of his way sharply as Harry makes for the door.

'Harry?' Neville says, but he's already gone.

'Goodness,' says Slughorn. 'Something I said?'

Zabini snorts. 'Precious Potter being a drama queen.'

The burning in Ginny's gut swells, and she flicks her wand at Zabini, who winces.

Slughorn is wavering, staring after Harry. 'Perhaps I should—'

'I'll go,' says Ginny sharply, taking a pointed step toward the door and blocking Slughorn's path.

The last thing Harry needs right now is some grovelling teacher fawning over him. Honestly. It's like Lockhart all over again.

A shiver of something unpleasant trickles down Ginny's spine at the thought of her first year at Hogwarts. She squashes it though. Reminds herself of why she was invited to this stupid club in the first place. She was strong. She had a near-perfect Bat-Bogey hex. She could cast a Patronus. She would never let anyone fool her the way Tom Riddle had.

She pushes down the emptying corridor, blinking away dark memories and trying to the think of things that made her laugh—like Fred and George had taught her to do. At least the lunch rush is over, making it easier to manoeuvre the corridor outside.

Still, there are enough students lingering about in the corridor that by the time she blinks away the memories, Harry is already pushing through the doors between carriages.

Ginny flicks out her wand again and glares at the nearest person in her way. 'Move,' she barks.

She reaches the end of the carriage just in time to see Malfoy yanking Harry back into the small, shifting space between the two carriages.

'I'll deal with him,' Malfoy says over his shoulder, hauling Harry by the back of his robes and pulling the door shut behind him. He turns his head and mutters, 'Don't you dare throw up on me, Potter.'

Ginny quickens her pace, hand tightening around her wand, a hex on the tip of her tongue.

Harry sinks to the shifting floor, slipping out of Malfoy's grasp, his breath hitching. 'I…I can't-'

Malfoy glances back over his shoulder. 'Jesus Potter, get your shit together before the other's show up!'

'Can't…can't breath…'

Malfoy crouches and mutters something Ginny can't hear. She reaches the door, flinging it open, her wand pointed straight down into Malfoy's surprised face.

'Get away from him,' she snarls.

Shock blends into annoyance. Malfoy glances at Harry, who doesn't seem to have noticed Ginny at all. Worry creeps into his expression, and angers surges in Ginny's gut.

'What did you do to him?'

'Me?' Malfoy snaps, anger flashing in those cool steel eyes.

Shoving him aside—which isn't easy in the small space they're squeezed into—Ginny crouches down next to Harry.

'Harry?'

He's staring at Malfoy, green eyes wide behind his glasses. He blinks once, twice, and suddenly his gaze clears.

'Ginny?' he asks, his voice small.

Malfoy stands up, glaring at her, affecting an air of disgust and disinterest. 'Keep your saviour on a leash,' he snaps. 'The rest of us don't need him causing catastrophe everywhere he goes.'

Ginny jabs her wand at him, but Malfoy is already out the door, shoving off through to the safety of the other Slytherins.

'Harry? Ginny?' Neville pokes his head in from the direction they came, worry etched into his face. 'Are you guys okay?'

'Yeah,' says Harry, pushing to his feet.

He sounds like himself again, but Ginny frowns at him as he brushes himself off. He offers her a weak smile.

'Sorry,' he says sheepishly. 'I'm okay, really.'

She crosses her arms and glares after Malfoy. 'What did he do to you?' she asks.

Harry shrugs. 'Nothing,' he says. 'It was my fault. Really. Come on, let's get back to the others.'

Ginny is ready to argue with him, to demand what exactly happened, when he casts her a sideways look and adds, 'I expect you'll be wanting to get back to Dean?'

The thought of her boyfriend—who she has barely seen all summer—washes away the irritation of the last hour. She grins and pushes off into the train.

'Well, come on then!'


	4. The First Bet

Chapter Four

 _The First Bet_

 _ **Blaise:**_

Draco isn't paying attention. He hasn't been paying attention since they got to Hogwarts two days earlier and, really, it's not as if he doesn't have plenty of good reasons (what with his father in Azkaban and his psychotic Aunt is living at his house), except this time it's during their assignment in potions and Blaise is suddenly struck by the fact that Draco has put the wrong ingredient in their potion.

'What did you just do?' he asks, staring at the ingredients left on the table—the nuts he has been studiously crushing while Draco was _supposed_ to be adding the dried thistle.

But there's the thistle, sitting in its neat little pile, and the powdered crows eggs are notably missing. Blaise stifles a groan and reads through his notes.

'Draco,' he elbows his friend. 'What did you just add?'

'What?' Draco blinks, his attention refocusing on Blaise with a tad of irritation and more than a little distraction. 'What do you want?'

'The potion, Draco. What did you add?'

Draco looks down at the table, grey eyes confused and—yes, still distracted. His gaze flickers to the other side of the room, almost without him realising. Blaise follows the direction of the glance and can't help the small smirk that twitches at his lips.

Hell, he'd outright grin if he didn't think that Draco had just cost them the assignment (worth twenty percent of their grade, no less; and honestly, who knew that Slughorn and Snape shared a predilection for setting high mark assignments at the start of the school year?).

'Shit,' says Draco, eyes back on their table, and he's all attention now, frantically trying to rectify his mistake. ' _Fuck._ '

Blaise rolls his eyes and abandons crushing the ingredients. It's doomed now anyway, and besides, Draco's scurrying to the ingredients cupboard has caught Potter's attention. Green eyes track Draco's movements, and Potter's gaze isn't as hostile as it once used to be. It's soft, and confused, and almost…Blaise wants to say worried. But why on earth would _Potter_ be worried about Draco?

Theo leans back in his chair and without turning around says, 'How bad is it?'

Blaise grins, sticks his elbow on the table and rests his chin in his palm. 'The potion or this obsession with Potter?'

This time Theo looks back, and there's a smidge of amusement lurking in the depths of his usually bland expression. He glances at the ruined potion, bubbling a furious indigo instead of the soft simmering orange it's supposed to be, and gestures to his own potion.

'Need a hand?'

'That would be cheating,' Blaise remarks, but, the minute Slughorn's back is turned, he vanishes the failed potion.

Smooth and swift, Theo magic's some of his and Daphne's potion straight into Blaise's cauldron. Daphne—studiously perusing her notes—doesn't seem to notice. Neither does Slughorn.

Honestly, the man might be some sort of grand potions master, but he has nothing on Snape's attentiveness.

'I don't believe I gave you permission to use our potion,' Daphne says in her soft, unobtrusive tone.

She doesn't look up from her notes, and Blaise winces. Theo glances back at Blaise and shrugs.

After a moment, Blaise sighs and asks, 'What's your price?'

She makes a small noise in the back of her throat and finally glances back. 'What makes you think I have one?'

'Most people usually do.'

'What if I just want to see you fail for once?' she asks, cocking her head, vivid eyes pinning him in place.

Blaise shrugs, calling her bluff. Of all the Slytherin's, Daphne was the most uninterested (aside from him, of course) in the usual power games within the House.

As he suspects, she rolls her eyes and gives him a real answer. 'Ten galleons…and your mother's rune book. One day, no questions.'

Blaise narrows his eyes at her, wondering what exactly she would want from his mother's grimoire. Deciding that there wasn't much in there that could cause any harm (unless one were married and needed to get rid of their spouse, which Daphne wasn't), he sighs and gives her a slight nod.

He turns back to Theo's curious expression and says. 'Great, now not only has he cost me my potion, but now he's costing me _money_. This getting ridiculous.'

Theo's mouth quirks in what is almost a grin, and he focuses back on his potion long enough to make the correct step. Blaise mimics him, tossing the ingredients in with slightly more force than is required.

As he's doing so, Potter gets up and wanders idly toward the ingredients cupboard. The motion catches Blaise's attention—and, he notes with satisfaction, Theo's—and the two of them watch as Potter disappears into the small pantry where Draco is _still_ looking for ingredients.

What Blaise wouldn't give to have a couple of those handy Extendable Ears he's heard the Weasley twins selling.

There's a loud clatter, and the entire class shifts it's attention to the cupboard as smoke and dust billows out of the door, Potter and Draco bursting out in a fit of coughing.

Slughorn observes them for a moment with the familiar cool eyed Slytherin gaze. 'What's going on?'

Too busy spluttering, neither boy answers.

Theo glances across at Daphne, and then back at Blaise. 'Ten galleons says Draco started it, but pins it on Potter,' he says and Blaise can hear the solicitous smirk in his voice.

A grin of his own twitches into place, and he too glances at Daphne. She shakes her head and resumes dealing with the ingredients. Betting was yet another thing Daphne didn't spare time for.

Blaise, however, rather enjoyed a good bet. Besides, a quick glance at Potter and Draco has him sure that he isn't going to end up out of pocket for Draco's mistake after all.

'Done,' he says, and Theo smirks as if Blaise is the easiest sucker in Slytherin.

Maybe he is. Yet, Blaise suspects that Draco's continued odd behaviour is going to be in his favour this time.

Potter is glancing sideways at Draco, an oddly confused expression on his usually open and _very_ readable face. Draco, likewise, looks baffled. That is, if one knows what to look for. There's the way his scowl doesn't quite measure up to par, and the slight tilt to his head as he blinks away dust and scattered ingredients to frown at Potter.

Slughorn coughs expectantly and Potter's head snaps back up, as if he's only just remembered they're in the middle of class. He blinks owlishly and rubs at his glasses.

'Sorry?'

Slughorn sighs. 'What happened?'

'Oh…er…' Potter's gaze flickers back at Draco and there's another flash of that concern Blaise noticed earlier.

Draco isn't looking at him, but he rolls his eyes and straightens up.

'It was my fault,' says Draco, and Blaise hears Pansy's intake of breath behind him. 'I knocked the shelf.'

'No,' says Potter, frowning. 'I startled him. It was an accident.'

Slughorn raises an eyebrow. 'Fine, then you can both stay back and clean it up.'

Potter winces, and glances sideways at Draco again. 'Er, right.'

Draco sighs and without looking at Potter, trudges back to their desk. Frustration tightens his shoulders and the scowl is back at full volume, but there's still that lingering confusion in his gaze.

He slides into his seat and Blaise is relieved to see that he at least managed to find the ingredients that need replacing before he and Potter ruined the storage cupboard.

As Draco continues to work on the potion—in the correct order this time—Theo mutters something foul under his breath. Blaise smirks.

At the end of class, he weighs the little bag of coins that Theo slips into his palm with faint satisfaction. Daphne gives Blaise a meaningful look as she passes, eyes flickering down to the little purse, and he waves her off. He'll have to give up the little bag (not to mention his mother's grimoire), but for now he would enjoy the satisfaction of the win. He was still the betting King.

'What've you been betting on now?' Draco asks, sounding exasperated.

But when Blaise glances up at him, Draco isn't looking. He's watching Potter again, a small frown creasing his brow as the other boy heads out of the classroom, flanked by his two sidekicks.

There's something in Draco's expression that Blaise can't quite identify, and he contemplates saying something outrageous just to see if he's paying attention.

'Nothing important,' he says.

'Hm? Oh,' says Draco, and swings his bag up over his shoulder, and trudges after the Golden Trio.

Theo steps up next to Blaise, watching Draco go. 'You're right,' he says. 'This is starting to get unhealthy.'

Blaise snorts. 'It's always been unhealthy. Now it's just weird.'


	5. Unusual Punishments

A/N: Posting early because I'm working all day tomorrow - so this is the usual Monday post, not an extra, sorry guys.  
Also, I'm not _entirely_ satisfied with this chapter, but I think it does what it needs to do and - while Diagon Alley _is_ the start of the whole story - this chapter is really the turning point of how everything that unfolds.

* * *

Chapter Five

 _Unusual Punishments_

 _ **Madam Pomfrey:**_

The Hospital Wing echoes in blissful silence. Nothing but the clean smell of fresh sheets and the soft _snick, snick_ of her shoes pervades the air as Poppy Pomfrey performs some long overdue maintenance spells. There are no patients to deal with. No first years suffering from some mishap or other, no home sickness, no first day potions accidents (for the first time in fifteen years—and isn't _that_ an interesting coincidence…) and Poppy relishes in the unexpected peace and quiet.

Really, she should have realised it was too good to be true.

The doors burst open as she's halfway through a restorative spell on the floors. She half turns, glancing back, only to turn fully when she sees not a first year but none other than Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy—both sporting bloody faces and a multitude of bruises—being ushered into the room by a scowling Severus Snape.

She sighs and wonders why she's even surprised.

'What happened?' she asks, and flicks her wand at two beds and summons both boy's files.

'That,' growls Severus, shoving both boys toward the beds. 'Is an _excellent_ question. What exactly _did_ happen?'

Both teens wince. They glance at each other and away again, neither one saying a word. Poppy raises her eyebrows at the unusual silence that stretches between them.

Hesitation has never been either boy's preference. In fact, they're almost always too eager to blame each other for whatever scrape they've managed to get themselves into.

Now, though, they sink into their respective beds and look at the floor—rather like five year olds too nervous to say or do anything. Blood drips from Potter's nose and, with an impatient huff, Poppy contours a napkin for him.

He offers her a half-hearted smile of thanks and presses it to his nose, tilting his head backwards.

She glances across at Malfoy, and likewise, contours a second clothe for his temple. He doesn't offer her a smile. He scowls across at Potter with broody eyes. It's not a hostile expression, exactly.

'Well?' barks Severus.

Malfoy drops his glare to the floor. Potter clenches his teeth and frowns at the ceiling. Neither one says a word.

Watching them, Poppy thinks that Malfoy is the worse off of the two of them, despite Potter's bleeding nose. He's holding his arm to his chest, his movements stiff and minimal. She remembers the last time he was in with broken bones and decides to start with him, lest he decide a reenactment is required.

She waves her arm in an intricate motion. Light flows out from her wand and she watches various points on his body glow in varying shades of purple. Bruises. There are four yellow spots indicating fractures (all on his ribs), two orange points for breaks (one on his hand, the other further up his arm) and three red indicators for gashes, all small, two on his temple and one on his arm near one of the breaks.

She purses her lips.

Severus glowers, but Poppy sees the way his eyes flick over the results, and how his shoulders tighten.

'Fine,' he says through gritted teeth. 'If you will not explain exactly _how_ my classroom ended up in the state it was in, then you will both serve detention every night for the next month repairing every single damaged item until it is exactly the way it was before.'

Another wince. Deepening frowns. Yet, still no explanation. Poppy wonders just how much damage the two of them inflicted to warrant a months worth of reparations.

The door bangs open again, and Poppy glances toward it, unsurprised to see Minerva stalking into the room. Surprisingly, there's no sign of Albus. Poppy glances across at the two files—Malfoy's is open as the results of Poppy's spells self-record in the file—and recalls all the times she's tried to approach Albus about the issue of Potter and Malfoy. An idea forms in her mind, and suddenly she's quite glad that Albus hasn't bothered to show up.

'Ah, Minevera,' Severus says, his tone at odds with his words. 'I was just deciding how many points to dock. What do you think? Two hundred each?'

Poppy's gaze snaps upwards. Two hundred? Barely a week into the school year and both houses would be in negatives. Still, she knows it'll do no good. It never has in the past. This rivalry runs deeper than house rivalry and really, yelling and lecturing clearly isn't going to resolve their issues.

Minerva looks between the two boys expectantly. Faint tingles of magic waft out from her. Poppy pauses in her spells, glancing over at her. Minerva's expression is tight control, but, if her magic is anything to go by, she's absolutely _livid_. As livid as Poppy's ever seen her.

'Well?' she asks, and her accent thickens. 'What do you have to say for yourselves?'

Again, silence.

The doors, yet _again_ , start to open. Without looking, Minerva flicks out her wand and snaps out a sharp spell, slamming it in the faces of Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger.

Potter glances up for the first time, and a flash of relief crosses those green eyes as the door locks. Poppy frowns. While no one is looking, she flicks her wand at Potter's file and notes the reaction.

'I expected more of you,' Minerva says. 'Especially you, Potter.'

Malfoy scoffs, then winces as Poppy's spell closes two of the gashes.

'Serves you right,' Severus snaps. 'What were you thinking? Do you ever listen? Do you ever think about anyone other than yourself?' Severus shakes his head and adds in a low voice. 'After everything, I would have thought you'd know better by now.'

Malfoy's head snaps up, indignation bright in his cheeks, and says, 'It's not _my_ fault! He—' he stops, glances across at Potter and his jaw snaps shut over whatever he is about to say.

'Me? You started it!'

'Oh fuck off, maybe if you weren't pretending—' Malfoy cuts himself off again and scowls furiously. 'Why don't you tell them what _really_ happened?'

'What's to tell, they already know you're an asshole!'

They glare at each other and a crackle of energy flashes between them. Poppy twitches her wand and both boy's flinch. It's just a stinging hex, but it's enough to break the tension.

'That's better,' Poppy says, her tone calm but reprimanding. 'Honestly, you're acting like children. Are you sixth years or not?'

They flush and the room is thrown back into silence.

She shakes her head and turns to Potter. 'Alright,' she says. 'If you're quite done, it's your turn.'

Something dark flashes across those green eyes as she starts the process of identifying all the usual suspects. Poppy frowns. Whilst wariness was a typical reaction of Potter in his early years, he hasn't looked at her quite like that in quite some time. It's reaction begs quite a few questions.

So, too, do his results.

She stiffens.

Like Malfoy, Potter has several cracked ribs, his nose is broken and he's covered in varying shades of bruises. It's the other indicators, however, that fill her with dread. Several of his organs light up in green and his back is covered in layers of pinks and dark red. This isn't fresh—in fact, from the shades of the colours she'd say they're several weeks old. Just what in the name of Merlin has he been doing?

'Well,' Minerva says, 'Since neither of you are willing to offer a reasonable explanation then I cannot help but agree with Professor Snape's suggestion. Two hundred points from both Slytherin and Gryffindor—' both boys jerk, their eyes widening comically at the pronouncement. 'In all my years at Hogwarts I have never seen such a display of destructive behaviour. This is _completely_ unacceptable. I've half a mind to suspend _both_ of you.'

Silence. Malfoy glares at the floor, Potter glares at the ceiling. Aside from the direction of their stares, they're almost identical in posture. Their shoulders are tense, waiting for the inevitable. They both believe they'll be suspended. Yet still no answer is forthcoming.

'Minerva,' Poppy says, tilting her head away from the beds. 'Might I have a word?'

Potter's gaze snaps back down, and he lowers the bloody cloth he's been holding on his nose to stare at her.

Minerva narrows her eyes at him, but nods at Poppy and they move away from the beds.

'I think,' says Poppy, once they're out of hearing range. 'That we've come to the point were detention and point taking isn't working.'

Minerva sighs. 'Yes, I know. I've spoken to Albus but he seems to think there's nothing else that can be done.'

Poppy rolls her eyes. 'Two files full of injury accounts from the constant fights and there's "nothing else that can be done". Honestly, sometimes I wonder about that man. Well, I'm not convinced. There's something they aren't telling us, and I think I might have a solution to finding it out. Might even cure this rivalry they can't seem to get enough of.'

She explains her idea, and some of the frustration seeps out of Minerva's expression. A small smile twitches at the corners of her lips. She looks over at the two boys, a contemplative expression in her eyes.

Potter is still watching them, worry etched into his features. Malfoy is pretending to glare at a cupboard, but his gaze keeps flicking toward them.

Minerva smiles. 'Sometimes I forget you were a Slytherin,' she says, glancing sideways at Poppy.

'Everyone always does.'

Severus eyes them as they head back over to the beds, dark eyes glancing between them with narrowed interest. Potter fidgets with the bed covers, his gaze flicking back and forth behind his glasses.

Minerva takes a steady look at them both. 'Still determined to stay silent?' she asks.

Potter glances across at Malfoy and chews his lip. Malfoy doesn't meet his gaze. Doesn't look at anything except the bloody clothe in his hands.

'Very well,' says Minerva. 'In that case, seeing as you two can't seem to behave in an adequate manner when separated, you can now look forward to getting better acquainted. Consider yourselves partnered in all subjects from this moment on.'

Heads snap up and jaws drop.

' _What_?' come two simultaneous shouts and Minerva lifts her head, eyes glittering in satisfaction.

'You can't be _serious_?' says Malfoy, gaping at the Gryffindor woman.

Even Severus looks stunned. 'Minerva, surely—'

She cuts off Severus with a tone that whip cracks through the air. 'Oh I'm _quite_ serious. Seeing as we can't seem to pry you two apart without there being untold violence spread throughout my halls, I'm going to grant you your wish. You can expect your new timetables in the morning.'

'But—'

' _No_ but's, Mr. Potter. I've had quite enough of this appalling behaviour.'

Potter winces, dropping his gaze back to the floor and muttering something vaguely apologetic. Malfoy, on the other hand, is still outraged. He stares between Minerva and Potter with a horrified expression.

'You can't do this,' he says. 'You can't just change our classes—'

'I can and I _will_ , Mr Malfoy. Perhaps you should of thought of that before you both destroyed a classroom.'

Destroyed a classroom? Poppy raises her eyebrows and glances between the two boys.

'Poppy,' Minerva continues. 'I leave them with you for the evening. Heal the broken bones of course, but leave them with everything else. Let it serve as an example to the younger years that this sort of violence _will not_ be tolerated any longer.'

With that, Minerva spun on her heel and stalked out, leaving the two boy's sitting dumbfounded. Without sparing his students a second look, Severus follows her out—no doubt to try and change her mind about this unusual punishment.

'Oh that's just…' Malfoy slouches back into the bed, scowling furiously.

Potter, on the other hand, is watching Poppy. His eyes are guarded, and keep flicking to his file where her quill is still scribbling out notes. He chews the inside of his mouth. Runs a hand through his hair. Sighs.

'You didn't tell her, did you,' he says in a quiet voice, not quite meeting her gaze.

She raises an eyebrow. Across from Potter, Malfoy stops grumbling. His eyes fix on Poppy and she has the unsettling feeling that he knows exactly what Potter is talking about.

She purses her lips, but before she can say anything, the door opens again and Granger and Weasley push into the room, scanning the room anxiously for Potter.

Green eyes flicker toward them from behind broken glasses and, if possible, his shoulders slump even more.

'Hey guys,' he mutters, sounding anything but happy to see them.

Poppy frowns. She pats him on the shoulder once, and goes to fetch some potions. They're both going to need them.

'Mate,' Ron says, grinning widely. 'Hope you gave as good as you got?'

'What're you blind as well as stupid, Weasley?'

'What'd you say?'

'I _said_ are you blind, as well as stupid? Or did you think that I smashed up my own face?'

Poppy pauses, glancing back over her shoulder at the four students and debating whether or not it's safe to leave the room unattended.

'Oh alright,' Potter says sharply, grabbing Weasley's arm and shooting Malfoy a pointed glare. 'I think we're in enough trouble for one day, don't you?'

Weasley's fists are clenched, and despite Potter's restraining hand, he leans forward toward Malfoy.

'Are we going to have an issue here?' Poppy calls, before Weasley can start the fight he's building up to.

'No, Madam Pomfrey,' Potter says quickly, glaring pointedly at his friends.

Malfoy glances at them and scoffs, but he stays silent.

Poppy keeps one ear turned to the main room as she rummages about for the potions she needs. The conversation, for the most part, is quiet until Potter's voice echoes out, tired and exasperated.

'Jesus, Hermione are you really bringing that up now?'

'I didn't mean—'

' _Nothing_ happened in Diagon Alley and _nothing_ happened today, okay? It was a fight, that's all! Just leave it alone!'

'But—'

'I think that's quite enough,' says Poppy, entering the room again before the argument can escalate any further. 'I have my hands full enough without you two adding more stress to my patients. They need to heal, you can see Mr Potter tomorrow.'

'But—' Weasley tries again, but Poppy gives him a quelling look. 'Just five minutes?'

'Absolutely not,' she says, and nods to the doors out of the Hospital Wing. 'Out, now.'

Potter's friends sigh and take themselves out, throwing Potter reassuring glances as they go. Potter just stares after them, shoulders drooping.

Poppy hands out several potions to each boy and waits until they start drinking. Malfoy sniffs at his cautiously, glancing up at here warily, unlike Potter who downs his without hesitation—having been through this routine many a time before.

'Now, first,' she says when they've both finished. 'You're going to tell me exactly what happened earlier today. Then, you're going to explain everything else.'

'Everything else?' Potter asks, but his tone isn't fooling anyone.

She simply raises an eyebrow at him.

Malfoy sighs. 'You want to know what happened at Diagon Alley,' he says in a resigned voice.

Potter shoots him a glare that speaks volumes.

Malfoy shrugs. 'What? It's not like she can tell anyone, right?' He glances at her, grey eyes cool and guarded. 'Everything we say is protected by patient confidentiality.'

She raises her eyebrows. 'Yes, that is correct.'

Malfoy nods, and then, despite Potter's clear unwillingness, he tells her everything.


	6. Not Withstanding

A/N: I was pretty conflicted about posting a Harry chapter so soon...buuuut, it _is_ Valentines Day...so I suppose it's okay. Think of this as my little treat to you.

* * *

Chapter Six

 _Not Withstanding_

 _ **Harry:**_

At first, Harry doesn't recognise the attacks for what they are. They come in bursts, striking out of no where (at night, for the most part, and Harry is thankful for small mercies) and leaving him gasping and sweaty and shaking. His heart hammers in his chest and he can't quite expand his lungs enough to breathe. He thinks he might pass out, but just as the blackness is creeping into the edges of his vision, the all-consuming panic subsides and he's okay again.

Well, as okay as he can be when his whole world has done a 180 on him.

He doesn't tell anyone about them, and that, he knows, is his first mistake because it doesn't take long for them to get worse.

It doesn't take long for them to start happening when he's awake.

The first one happens on the train. The mere mention of _Her_ name sending him bolting from Slughorn's stupid party and straight into Malfoy and his friends.

The second one happens in Potions. He's trying to ask Malfoy _why_. He's confused and wants answers, but before he can even get the words out, he starts thinking about what happened. About _Her_. And he starts to shake. He knocks into a shelf and the whole thing comes tumbling down around them.

The third time happens slowly.

They're duelling in DADA and Snape once again interrupts Harry and Ron's duel. It's starting to become a habit.

'What kind of spellwork do you call that, Weasley?' Snape says, and—without warning—steps into Ron's place. Brushing Harry's friend aside as if he's nothing.

In their first class of the year, Harry barked out a shield charm so strong it knocked Snape off balance. He'd said it verbally, though, and it had cost him detention. This time he sees what's coming and clenches his jaw, readjusting his grip on his wand, and reaches for his magic. Yet when Snape swoops in, there's something in the movement that throws Harry's memory backwards.

The swish of the cape, the arch of his wand, and suddenly, Harry is back in Diagon Alley. He falters. Looses his grip on his magic. Doesn't have time to get it back, to make the wand movements and raise a shield.

Snape's spell flashes toward him and Harry is frozen. _Useless_. It's going to hit him. It's going to hit him and…and it doesn't.

The faint yellow shield shimmers into place just a fraction of a second before the spell hits it, fizzling out harmlessly against the barrier between Harry and Snape.

Snape narrows his eyes. Behind him Ron is grinning, giving Harry a thumbs up and across from Ron, Hermione is giving Harry one of those "don't-do-anything-stupid" looks that she thinks works. Around them, their own duels forgotten, various members of Harry's House and year are watching. Most of them (the Gryffindor's and DA members) are nodding appreciatively, never doubting in Harry's ability to always defend.

Yet…yet his wand, still pointed at Snape, didn't move. Snape is staring at it, and Harry knows that he knows.

Harry didn't cast that shield.

His chest heaves and he feels light headed with too much oxygen.

Snape's gaze flickers over Harry's shoulder, narrows, and then darts away again.

'Seems you are capable of listening after all, Potter,' Snape says. He glances around the room. 'What are you all waiting for? Class is over. Get out.'

He turns on his heel, cloak billowing out behind him. Ron shuffles over to Harry's side and watches the man go.

'You'd think he'd give up by now, the great git,' he says, and nudges Harry, not even noticing that he's barely in control. 'But you show'd him, eh?'

Harry concentrates on breathing evenly and tries to think about something else. Something other than _Her_. The shield. Who cast the shield?

Clearly, it wasn't Ron, or he'd be crowing about getting one over on Snape. Harry shifts, glancing toward the back of the classroom. Whoever had cast the spell had to have been behind him, ruling out Ron, Hermione and most the DA. Which only left a few Ravenclaws Harry didn't know that well and…the Slytherin's.

'Honestly, Ron,' says Hermione, slinging her bag over her shoulder and coming to stand with them. 'You can't talk about a teacher like that.'

Murmurs rise amongst the room as everyone else moves to collect their bags and head to lunch. Numb and still reeling from his inability to even defend himself, Harry follows Ron and Hermione out into the hallway. His head is swimming, and he feels a bit dizzy.

'Alright. I'll stop talking about him like that, when he stops giving Harry a hard time.' Ron is saying, but Harry can't concentrate on the words. They echo in his head.

His vision swims. The hallway feels narrower than usual, and he swallows against the sudden feeling of claustrophobia. He shakes his head. He's not claustrophobic. Hell, he'd lived in a cupboard for ten years of his life, hadn't he?

He feels at once heavy and weightless, a strange combination that makes his stomach turn.

'Alright, Harry?'

Harry looks up, blinking. 'What?'

Hermione frowns at him. 'Harry, where's your bag?'

He looks down, then curses. 'You guys go ahead,' he says, waving them off. 'I'll catch up.'

Before either of them can reply, he turns and heads back toward the classroom, almost running headlong into Blaise Zabini.

'Shit, sorry,' he mutters, and steps around the boy.

'Alright there, Potter?'

Harry doesn't answer. He's already turning the corner toward the room.

Snape is mercifully absent, but the room is not yet empty.

Draco Malfoy stands near the far wall, weighing a bag contemplatively in one hand; his own bag slung across his shoulder.

He looks up when Harry enters, and the indecision warring over his face clears. He gestures to Harry's bag.

'I do hope you don't leave everything you own just lying about, Potter,' he says dryly, and dumps Harry's bag back on the table.

Harry doesn't answer. He can't. He's still stuck. His mind keeps seeing Snape's spell racing toward him, only…it's not the soft blue of a harmless jinx, but the burning red of a cruiciatus. He swallows.

Something undefinable crosses Malfoy's face. 'Jesus, Potter,' he mutters. 'Again?'

'What?' Harry asks.

His voice cracks over the word, but it's enough to bring him back to himself, just a little bit. His breathing evens out on it's own. Malfoy raises an eyebrow, studying him.

'You don't expect me to bring this to you, do you?' Malfoy asks, cocking an eyebrow and glancing across at Harry's back.

'Er, no,' says Harry and within a moment he's by the desk, picking up his bag, with no recollection of ever having decided to move. 'You didn't hex it or anything, did you?'

Malfoy rolls his eyes. 'Of course you'd think that,' he scowls. 'No, Potter, I didn't go through all the effort of saving your sorry arse only to torment you at school. Merlin.'

'Oh,' says Harry. 'I wasn't sure.'

Malfoy looks at him like Harry's lost his marbles, and Harry thinks he rather might have. He doesn't feel like himself. In fact, he feels a bit like he's dreaming, and that at any moment he's going to wake up, sweaty and breathless, as he has most nights since the summer. It doesn't help that Malfoy's been a see saw of contradictory actions ever since that day in Diagon Alley.

'Why did you?' Harry asks, adjusting the strap on his bag.

He breathes in. He breathes out. He waits for Malfoy's response. Tries to pretend that his chest doesn't hurt with the simple effort of _not freaking out_.

'Why did I what?'

Harry swallows. He concentrates on the words and is pleased when his voice doesn't shake. 'Save my life.'

Malfoy frowns and looks away. Toward the door. He shifts his weight and glances toward Harry. He shrugs and scratches at the inside of his arm, where Harry remembers four long claw marks gouged into the flesh.

He realises that Malfoy is feeling self-conscious. He's never seen Malfoy look self-conscious before. Somehow that makes him feel a little better, and the tightening in his chest eases somewhat.

'I…I don't know,' Malfoy says quietly, frowning. 'I just…couldn't let her kill you.'

'Oh,' says Harry, and has to clench his fists to keep from shaking. 'Well…thanks…I guess.'

'You guess?' and he's Malfoy again, all arrogance and snark.

Harry rolls his eyes. He thinks about trying again, but Malfoy's still looking at him like he's an idiot and really, he's having enough trouble pretending he's okay without having to deal with Malfoy on top of it.

'Whatever,' he mutters, and turns and stomps across the room.

'Hey Potter,' Malfoy calls after him. 'You might want to work on your shields. I'd rather all my hard work not go to waste, you know.'

Harry's shoulders tense, and he spins back around, glaring. 'I can cast shields just fine, thanks.'

Malfoy shrugs, leans back on the table and twirls his wand. He raises an eyebrow at Harry.

'Oh really?'

'Yes,' Harry snaps.

Another of those unreadable looks flashes across Malfoy's face. He narrows his eyes.

'Alright then,' he says. 'Prove it.'

His wand is no longer twirling. He flicks it out, his arm moving through a familiar pattern that's too quick for Harry to identify, and even if he'd been able to it would've been too late. Because Harry's stuck again. He's staring down the wrong end of a wand that's hexed him more times than he can count and he can't even _think_ of what he needs to do.

Cold, sharp fear spikes up Harry's spine. Something coils in his stomach, the whole world freezing in place as the panic that's been building in Harry's chest lashes out.

The shield bursts into life a fraction of a second before the spell hits it and the whole room explodes.

Harry and Malfoy are thrown backwards. Harry slams into a desk, or a chair, or maybe even a bookcase, but whatever it is it's solid and _hurts_. He falls, flailing, and smacks his face on the corner of another hard something. Pain erupts in several different spots at once and he cries out. Or at least he thinks he does, because he can't hear it. His ears are ringing with the echoes of the eruption of sound that blasted through the room when the two spells collided.

Harry lays still and waits for the world to stop tumbling.

It occurs to him, too late as usual, that it might've been _Malfoy_ who cast the shield in class. Meaning that he'd known perfectly well that Harry hadn't been able to cast it at all.

He groans, and this time is relieved to find that he can hear after all.

At least the panic has subsided, he reflects. Belatedly, he realises he can hear more than his own grumbles of pain. Malfoy, wherever the stupid sod is, is swearing.

'Mother fucking Merlin on a stick!'

Harry blinks. Well, he's never heard _that_ one before.

'What're you trying to do, _kill_ us? _Fuck_ that hurts!' there's a momentary pause and some scuffling. 'Potter? You…are alive, aren't you?'

Despite himself, Harry cracks a wry smile. 'I think so,' he says. 'If not I'm definitely in hell.'

Malfoy snorts. He sounds closer, and a moment later his head appears in Harry's field of vision.

'You have some serious issues, you know that?'

Malfoy's hair is in disarray, there's a gash on his temple, he has two black eyes and a swollen lip.

He sticks out a hand. Harry takes it and is hauled to his feet with barely any effort. Turns out that standing hurts even worse than lying down had, and Harry doubles over, wheezing. Malfoy steadies him.

'Steady on,' he says, a hand on Harry's back. 'Now, I know you Gryffindorks aren't the most intelligent lot, but I would've thought even _you_ would realise that throwing a person who saved your life across a room isn't a very good show of gratitude.'

'Oh, fuck off,' Harry coughs, but he tilts his head, shooting Malfoy a wry smile.

To his surprise, Malfoy smiles back. It's small and uncertain and...kind of endearing. His eyes crinkle at the edges, the steel grey softening into something warmer and he's almost attractive, like this.

Harry blinks. What. The. _Fuck_?

He straightens and takes one step back from Malfoy. In an instant, Malfoy's guard is back up and the warmth vanishes from his eyes. Harry is _not_ disappointed. He's not. Really. Because he doesn't find Malfoy attractive. Or even capable of normal human emotion. The incident in Diagon Alley not withstanding. _That_ was just some freak occurrence of decency on Malfoy's part. Obviously.

He wonders just how hard he hit his head.

'What the _hell_ is going on?'

Harry and Malfoy both jump, turning around to find Professor Snape standing in the doorway to his offices, his gaze swivelling around the room—the broken tables and chairs, the shattered glass tanks, the overturned pixie cage, the boggart wardrobe in pieces, to name just a few—and there, at the centre of it all, is Harry and Malfoy.

Harry winces. Oh, they are in _so_ much trouble.


	7. Seating Arrangements

A/N: So I only just finished working on this. So far it's the longest chapter, though I feel it could have been longer. I wish I'd spent a bit more time in class, however, there'll be more time for that stuff later. For now I just wanted to get the last of the set up out of the way. I hope you enjoy it!

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Chapter Seven

 _Seating Arrangements_

 _ **Blaise:**_

'Many of you have no doubt heard that there was an altercation yesterday evening in the Defence classrooms,' says McGonagall, her gaze sweeping over the room and quelling all conversations.

Blaise glances across at Draco, hoping for some reaction that might clue him into what happened yesterday other than the tight lipped response of _'I don't see how that's any of your business, Zabini,'_ that he'd gotten this morning when Draco returned from the Hospital Wing; but there's nothing. Not even an eye twitch.

'Since many of you seem incapable of interacting with members of another house without altercations occurring we have decided to bring in a new class rule. From now on, no two students from the same house may sit together in any class.'

Whispers break out across the hall. Blaise straightens, his mouth dropping open, and shifts his attention back to McGonagall.

'What?' Pansy gasps. 'They can't do that!'

McGonagall waits. She stands stoic, one eyebrow slightly arched as she stares down the entire hall, as cool and unyielding as any Slytherin. Blaise shifts uncomfortably, and glances across at Snape. The man glowers down at his food, stabbing his fork at his sausages and Blaise wonders how many arguments this "rule" caused during the night.

'Anyone who does not comply will face a weeks worth of detention, twenty lost house points, and find themselves assigned a new class partner who you will work with at all times.'

'What!'

Pansy isn't the only one to cry out, and outrage ripples across the room.

'Furthermore,' McGonagall says, talking over the rush of noise. 'To reinforce this new rule, Mr Malfoy and Mr Potter have _kindly_ offered to set an example by becoming partners in all subjects, to the point that they have even changed classes in order to show how inter house unity should occur. Violence is not tolerated at Hogwarts. Anyone who receives a three strike warning for not cooperating with a member of another house will be suspended and then expelled.'

McGonagall sits down into complete silence. Blaise has never heard a silence quite like this one. It's shock, disbelief and growing anger all rolled into one. Everyone is staring at McGonagall in disbelief, at least until, one by one, they all turn to look at either Potter or Draco.

Blaise glances across at them too.

Draco, for his part, is as unaffected as ever. He sits with his elbow on the table, his chin rested in his palm as he idly pushed his food around his plate with his fork. He's pretending not to notice the glares and whispers, instead staring off toward the great hall doors as if deep in thought—though Blaise suspects there's less deep thinking going on and more of a wish for escape.

Potter, on the other hand, looks miserable. He's sitting slouched in his chair, attempting to look as small as possible as he focuses entirely on eating. Granger and Weasley are leaning over the table, trying and failing to talk to him, but he shakes his head at them and stuffs another mouthful of shepherds pie in his mouth.

'You have to partner with _that_?' Pansy asks in disgust, her nose wrinkling as she watches Potter almost choke on the food in his attempt to discourage conversation.

Draco's gaze flicks to her, then across at Potter. He frowns, grey eyes narrowed, but he doesn't say anything. There's no disparaging commentary, no snide remark. Not even a scowl or sneer of disgust. He merely says, 'Unfortunately,' in a lazy tone and looks away again.

'What did you do?' Pansy asks.

Draco shrugs and it's clear that none of them—for they're _all_ listening—are going to get an answer. Draco may have been a bit of an attention seeker, but he could be stubborn when he put his mind to it.

Blaise sighs. Really it's not like he actually cared what happened between Potter and Draco, but the lack of Draco's usual pompous behaviour concerning all things Potter has piqued Blaise's curiosity. He's spent years understanding the inner workings of the more emotionally damaged Slytherin's to the point that he's sort of the unofficial house councillor, and he's not used to being unable to figure out his housemates.

Snape descends on the table, breaking Blaise out of his thoughts, stalking toward Draco. He's emitting such a foul aura that all students instinctively hunch over their plates, keeping their eyes downcast to avoid being caught in the firing line.

'Malfoy,' he says, stopping at their section of the table and thrusting a sheet of parchment at Draco. 'Here's your new timetable. Your new books will be sent to you.'

New books? Blaise raises his eyebrows and glances curiously at the timetable, wondering just how much of it has changed. The paper is barely in Draco's hand before Snape is stalking back off.

Nosy as ever, Pansy leans over Draco's shoulder to inform the rest of the house what new classes he's taking.

'Care of Magical Creatures?' she says, her eyebrows rising. 'Muggle _Studies_?'

Draco yanks the paper away from her, his calm facade finally snapping. He surges to his feet, leaving his breakfast untouched on the table as he slings his bag over his shoulder, shoving the parchment into the depths of his pockets.

Across the room, Potter lifts his head from studying his own timetable and watches Draco leave, a contemplative frown on his face.

'They can't make us do this,' Pansy complains, glowering. 'They can't just dictate who we're going to sit with in class! It's not right!'

Blaise reaches for his own bag, downing the last of his pumpkin juice—the sharp tang sending a shiver of discomfort down his spine (he would never get used to this stuff)—and standing.

'I think they already have, Pans,' he says, smiling at her. 'You should finish up.'

She arches an eyebrow at him and, pointedly reaches for another scoop of hash browns.

Blaise shrugs, 'Alright, but don't say I didn't warn you?'

Unlike Pansy, Daphne and Theo follow Blaise up from the table. Greg and Vince are too wrapped up in their breakfasts to have even noticed what's going on, and Blaise feels a twang of sympathy for them.

'They're not going to know what hit them when they get to class,' he sighs.

Daphne shoots him a sideways look. 'What?'

He grins. 'Never mind. Was just thinking that this new seating rule is going to be harder for some than others.'

Daphne glances back at Greg and Vince and winces. 'Those two are hopeless. I can't believe they even managed to pass their O.W.L.S.'

She grabs his arm, stopping him and reaching into her bag. 'Thanks for letting me keep this a few extra days,' she says, withdrawing his mother's grimoire. 'I appreciate it.'

Blaise shrugs, accepting it back. 'No worries,' he says. 'I hope it proved useful.'

She gives him a cool look, as mistrustful as any of his housemates, before relaxing her shoulders and offering him a soft smile. 'Yeah, it was. Thanks.'

He nods.

They head to the transfiguration classrooms and, like everyone else, pause in the hallway. No one seems to want to be the first one in—especially not any of the Slytherins. For students that like to be in control, the idea of being the first in and having no control over who sits next to you isn't something any of the Slytherin's relish—even Blaise.

Of course, when the Gryffindor's show up, the impasse breaks. Most of them reach the group already milling about and slow to a halt, glancing between the students and the door curiously.

It's not until Potter and his two sidekicks show up that the situation resolves itself. Granger takes one look at the waiting crowd and rolls her eyes.

'Really?' she asks, looking around at them all.

To Blaise's surprise, though, it's Potter who pushes through. He breaks away from his friends and trudges through the door to the classroom. He glances sideways at Draco, who's leaning on the wall next to the door, and lifts a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug.

'Might as well get it over with,' he says, and heads in.

Draco rolls his eyes, but—after a beat of silence—follows Potter in, pushing off from the wall and throwing them all his scathing patented number two "I'm-better-than-all-of-you" sneer.

Blaise resists the urge to snicker.

McGonagall is waiting for them when they enter, watching impassively as they all fumble around the room, trying to decide where to sit. Blaise eyes her.

'I still don't know how they do that,' he mutters, glancing around the room for some secret entrance.

He's convinced all the teachers use them. How else would they get from one end of the castle to the other before students who left before them.

Daphne casts him one last bemused smile, shakes her head, and veers off to the back corner of the classroom.

All the usual groups have been broken up and in the brief confusion that falls over the room (except, of course, for Potter and Draco who are sitting in their assigned seats watching everyone else scramble) people seem to grab a seat at random. Blaise aims for a blonde Ravenclaw he recalls as being somewhat tolerable and somehow ends up next to Longbottom.

He sighs.

Still, he supposes it's better than Pansy, whose wound up stuck next to Weasley. Which is yet better than poor Theo, who is looking horrified by the prospect of sitting in the only vacant seat remaining—next to Lavender Brown.

Blaise can't contain a snort, and turns away, turning is laugh into a jagged cough, hiding his smile in the crook of his elbow. Theo, the guy who never utters two syllables when one will suffice, stuck next to the loudest person in all of Hogwarts.

'Don't let us hold you up, Mr Nott,' McGonagall barks.

A few people titter as Theo sinks into the seat, his face taut and pale.

'That's unfortunate,' Longbottom mutters.

Blaise tilts his head in surprise.

Longbottom catches his expression and promptly flushes. 'I, er, I just mean…she can be a bit…much...'

Blaise smirks. 'You think? That girl could talk the wings off a dragon.'

Longbottom smiles tentatively and drops his gaze to his books. Despite the boys obvious submissiveness (an unfortunate quality for a Gryffindor) Blaise thinks that perhaps this won't be as horrendous as he'd first thought. Longbottom is, at least, amendable to civil discussion.

Naturally, Blaise goes with the obvious.

'So,' he says. 'Who do you think is going to crack first? Potter and Draco, or Pansy and Weasley?'

Longbottom glances up in surprise. He observes the two pairs for a moment, before shrugging.

'Harry's not up to arguing today,' he says.

Blaise raises his eyebrows at this bit of insight. He leans forward, eyeing Potter closer. The boy does look tense, but there are shadows under his eyes, and he slouches in his seat next to Draco without any attempt at argument.

Pansy and Weasley, on the other hand, are already bickering. Which McGonagall quells in an instant.

'I expect total cooperation today,' she says.

Mutters start up.

'As well as silence,' she barks at them, glowering. 'As such you'll be practicing the wandless versions of spells you learnt last year. I believe you've already started this in some of your other classes.'

Silence is not an interesting way to spend the class. Still, Blaise works on his wandless magic and is surprised when McGonagall announces the end of the lesson sooner than he'd been expecting.

'Alright, wands down,' says McGonagall. 'Parkinson, Weasley, a word? The rest of you may go.'

Pansy and Weasley slouch further in their seats, scowling at each other.

Potter and Draco, on the other hand, leave their tables without a single word.

'Not bad, Longbottom,' says Blaise, and reaches into his pocket for his spare change from last night's round of cards. He tosses a galleon to the Gryffindor. 'Cheers.'

Longbottom catches the coin, surprise lighting his face. 'Uh, thanks.'

Still looking at the coin, he heads out of the room.

'Well,' says Blaise, watching Longbottom walk away with a contemplative expression. 'that wasn't _completely_ terrible.'

Theo, coming to stand next to him, merely grunts. Brown just about bolted from the room the second the class was over, and Blaise wonders what on earth Theo did to the poor girl.

Pansy, of course, stomps over to them, red faced and fuming. 'Speak for yourself,' she snaps. 'Weasley has already got me landed in detention. The detestable pig.'

Blaise grins and nudges Theo. 'Come on, at least there aren't many Gryffindor's in Ancient Runes.'

Theo just scowls and turns down the hallway. Blaise waves off the others and jogs after him.

'So…Draco seemed a little odd during class, don't you think?'

Theo shoots him a sidelong look. He shrugs. 'Odd how?'

'Well, normally he can't wait to tell everyone how he humiliated Potter, but this time he hasn't said a word.'

'Maybe Potter isn't the one who got humiliated?'

'Yeah, but when has that ever stopped Draco from telling a good story?'

Theo snorts and nods in agreement. 'True.'

'And normally when something like this class situation happens, Draco gets all fired up and outraged and just generally causes everyone endless amounts of headaches for _days_ …'

'You're upset because he isn't being a pain in the arse?' Theo asks, glancing sideways at Blaise again.

Blaise rolls his eyes. 'No,' he says. 'I'm not upset. I just don't understand. I guess things are just different this year.'

Theo shrugs, though this time his eyes flash downwards and his jaw tightens the way it only ever does when he thinks of his father.

'Yeah,' he says in a low voice. 'Different.'

Their footsteps echo along the hall in the following silence. Blaise chews on the inside of his mouth. In an attempt to distract Theo from any morose thoughts he might be having, he says,

'Did you notice how close they were sitting in class?'

'Why would I notice how close they were sitting?'

Blaise smirks. 'Well you never know, there could be something going on. You know, that we don't know about.'

As he'd hoped, Theo glances over at him, an eyebrow cocking as he realises what Blaise is insinuating. 'You think there's something going on between Draco and Potter?'

The way he says it sounds ridiculous, even to Blaise's ears, but he smirks and says, 'I dunno, maybe?'

Theo snorts. 'Fat chance in hell.'

'Never say never,' says Blaise, rolling his shoulders and winking at a Hufflepuff girl as she passes.

Theo throws him a disgusted look.

'What? Seeing as we have to start getting along, I don't see the problem in appreciating the finer points of other houses.'

Theo glances back over his shoulder at the girl. 'You mean like her arse?'

'Exactly like her arse.'

'You're disgusting.'

'I'm a man,' says Blaise.

There's another, much more comfortable, silence as they stroll along. Theo shifts, glancing sideways as an amused (for him, anyway) glint enters his eye.

'Ten galleons,' he says.

'What?'

'Ten galleons says there's absolutely nothing weird going on between Potter and Draco.'

At first Blaise is shocked, then delight surges up his spine and he grins. 'Oh, you're on. Because there is definitely _something_ going on.'

Theo stops, turning to face Blaise fully as he extends his hand, a small smirk twitching into place. Before he can reach out to accept it a voice speaks up from behind them.

'Well, with terms as broad as those, that's not much of a bet now, is it?'

Blaise winces. He turns to face Granger, bracing himself for the long, ranting Gryffindor to give them what for.

That is, until he sees the contemplative—if somewhat amused—arch of her brow, and the small, Slytherin worthy smirk she pointing in their direction.


	8. Insights

AN: So I didn't mean for Ron to come off quite so annoyingly idiotic in this chapter...but it's late and I'm tired and I can't be bothered fixing it, so please forgive me. This is _not_ a Ron bashing fic. In fact, I'm hoping to give everyone a pretty fair chance in this story. I want to explore a lot of different sides and characters while still remaining true to most of the characters personalities.

I want to take a chance to thank everyone who has reviewed so far. Thank you! It's always the highlight of my day to get those emails.

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Chapter Eight

 _Insights_

 _ **Hermione:**_

Zabini and Nott look like two deer caught in the headlights. The corners of Hermione's lips twitch, but she manages to keep the smile under wraps. She shifts the books in her grasp and takes a step forward.

'I mean,' she says. 'It's obvious to anyone with eyes that something has changed between them.'

Zabini and Nott exchange wary glances. Zabini refocuses on her, raising his eyebrows.

'It is?' he asks.

His tone is aloof and guarded yet Hermione detects the note of curiosity underlying his voice. He's regarding her with interest. As if she's a new piece in a game that he hasn't worked out what to do with yet.

Hermione rolls her eyes. Honestly, Slytherin's were all show.

'Please,' she says, tossing her hair over her shoulder and pushing passed them. 'Come on, we can talk and walk. I don't want to be late.'

'No,' says Zabini dryly, following along behind her with an amused glance at his friend. 'Of course you wouldn't. So, what exactly do you think is going on?'

She throws him a sideways look, cocking a disbelieving eyebrow. 'You don't really expect me to tell you that do you? At least not until we establish the parameters of the bet.'

'Wait, you want in?'

Hermione considers the question. Did she want in?

Her moral compass cringes at the thought of making a bet about one of her best friends; but on the other hand…there is something going on with Harry and for whatever reason he isn't turning to her or Ron.

Not to mention the fact that she was now certain it involved Malfoy.

'Yes,' she says, surprising herself. 'I do.'

There's a moment of surprised silence in which Hermione is sure the two of them are exchanging secret, communicative Slytherin expressions. She rolls her eyes again but waits patiently, leading the way to Ancient Runes.

'Alright,' says Zabini. 'Then how do you want to do this?'

They're two corridors away from the room, and Hermione pauses, not wanting to be overheard by any of the other students in their class. She turns, eyeing the two Slytherin's.

'Well, I guess we have to figure out what each of us thinks is going on, and make the bet according to that. But nothing too broad. For instance, I think that something happened in the Defence classroom that they're not telling us, but I don't think they fought.'

'Oh?'

'Harry's never been skittish about owning up to fights before, but this time is different,' she says, frowning as she thinks about the last few days. 'He hasn't actually directly stated that they fought.'

'Hm, interesting,' says Zabini. 'So you think…what…that they're _friends_?'

'Not…exactly,' says Hermione. 'What do you think?'

Zabini shrugs and stuffs his hands into his pockets, leaning against the wall with a contemplative smile. 'Hell, I think they're friends and they're hiding it. Or at the very least they're getting along but pretending not to be.'

Hermione frowns. 'Why? What have you seen?'

'Nothing,' says Zabini, an infuriating smirk working onto his face. 'But that's exactly the point. There's been nothing. After everything that happened last year…nothing. I mean, Draco's just as obsessed as he's ever been-ow.'

Nott treads pointedly on Zabini's foot. Zabini winces, glaring at his friend, but cutting off. Hermione raises her eyebrows. Interesting.

'Alright…' she says. 'Well, I don't think Harry would agree to be friends. Not, as you say, after everything. I…I think maybe…they're helping each other.'

'Helping each other how?'

'To be honest,' says Hermione, and bites her lip, wondering if she dares say it. She sighs. 'I think it's the war. I think maybe Malfoy has…you know.'

'What, switched?' Zabini asks, his tone and expression incredulous.

Nott snorts. 'You two are delusional, you know that?'

Zabini shoots him a sharp look. 'Well, why don't you put your money where your mouth is then?'

Nott smirks, 'Against those two theories? Easy money.'

'Ten galleons?' Zabini asks again, glancing between them.

Hermione purses her lips. If she's honest, she doesn't really have ten galleons and she pauses. How sure is she about her theory?

'What if we want to amend our theories?' she asks.

Zabini shakes his head. 'Nope, no adjustments. We settle on this.'

Hermione rolls her eyes. 'Alright, fine.'

Zabini smirks. 'Great,' he says, and pushes off the wall, holding out a hand to her.

Shaking hands with a Slytherin over a bet she's just placed on her best friend feels more than a little surreal, but Hermione takes it in stride. She's sure that, with Zabini and Nott's insights, that she can figure out this mystery.

'Oh, this is going to be good,' Zabini says.

He tilts his head at Nott and the two of them proceed to class. Hermione sighs, and hopes that she won't come to regret this decision.

Which, of course, she does almost instantly.

At lunch, she watches as Malfoy and Harry make their way into the Great Hall, straggling in after their joint Care of Magical Creatures.

'So?' says Ron as Harry sits down.

'So what?' Harry asks tiredly, reaching for the juice.

'So, how awful was it?'

Harry glances up and shrugs. 'Actually, it wasn't that bad,' he says. 'I mean, I was feeling kinda bad anyway, about skipping out on Hagrid's class.'

'Not Hagrid,' says Ron, rolling his eyes. 'I mean _Malfoy_. Aren't you two the only two stuck in that class?'

Again the shrug. 'Yeah, I guess.'

Ron smirks, stuffing his mouth with entirely too much bacon. Hermione wrinkles her nose. 'I bet he hated that,' he says around his food.

'Not really,' says Harry. 'Actually, Hagrid's class was pretty good. I think Malfoy was actually interested for once. Not that he'd admit it, the git.'

He adds this last part almost as an afterthought, his gaze drifting over to the Slytherin table without him even realising it.

Hermione does the same and as she watches, Zabini leans over to Malfoy and says something. Malfoy glances up, grey eyes flashing over to their table. His gaze finds Harry's with unerring accuracy. He frowns and both boys look away quickly.

Hermione catches Zabini's eye. He smirks at her, tilting his head at his friend.

'So, what was interesting about Hagrid's class?' Hermione asks, turning to Harry.

'Oh, actually we talked about magical snakes. Hagrid had an Occamy that was nesting.'

'An Occamy,' repeats Hermione, surprised. 'Those are rare. And aggressive. I do hope you were careful.'

Harry shrugs her off. 'Oh she was fine. Beautiful, actually, and not aggressive at all. Especially when I explained that we were just looking at her.'

'Wait, you _spoke_ to her?' Hermione asks sharply. 'In parseltongue?'

Harry throws her an odd look. 'Well, yeah. I couldn't talk to her in english, could I?'

'But I mean…' Hermione trails off and glances back across the room at Malfoy.

Zabini seems to be teasing him and Malfoy snaps something with a scowl, making Zabini laugh. Malfoy sighs, sticks his elbow on the table and resting his chin. His eyes shift back to Harry again, though this time he notices Hermione watching. He sneers at her, turning away sharply.

'You mean what?' Harry asks.

She glances at him. 'I just…should you be doing that? In front of Malfoy, I mean?'

Ron glances over at Harry, pointing his fork at him. 'Yeah, you don't really want to give him any more reasons to start shit?'

'Ron,' Hermione says, with a frown.

Ron shrugs. 'Well he would.'

'Actually, I don't think he cared. He even asked me what we were talking about. Of course, then Hagrid got all excited and wanted me to ask a bunch of weird questions.' Harry cracks a smile, a fond expression lighting up his eyes.

Hermione returns the smile. 'That sounds like Hagrid.'

'Hey,' says Ron, nudging Harry. 'When do you think you'll host the Quidditch trials? I thought maybe next Tuesday would be good, you know, get it over with early?'

'Er, well, I have detention, remember.'

'McGonagall will let you off for Quidditch,' Ron says dismissively.

Hermione raises her eyebrows. 'You can't just get "let off", Ron. Harry's in detention for a reason.'

Ron frowns at her. 'You make it sound like you _want_ Harry to be in detention.'

'No,' says Hermione. 'Though, McGonagall has a point. The fighting has gotten to be a bit much. I mean, they _did_ destroy a classroom.'

'Please, like the stupid git didn't deserve it. Do you remember what he did last year?'

Hermione does remember, and as the shadow of pain flashes across Harry's face, Hermione shoots Ron a sharp glare. He, at least, has the good grace to wince.

'Yes,' says Hermione. 'I just thought we'd all grown up a little bit. Why did you fight, anyway.'

Harry shrugs. 'Erm, you know…'

'No, I don't. You never said.'

'Who cares,' says Ron, cutting a sharp look across to Hermione.

No doubt worried that she was going to start grilling Harry about this like she had about Harry's missing hours in Diagon Alley.

'I care,' says Hermione. 'Harry was injured, they _both_ were. Something must have caused that.'

'Yeah, Malfoy being a big fat giant git, as usual!'

Harry frowns. He opens his mouth, pauses, and snaps it shut again, the frown remaining in place. Hermione narrows her gaze at him, an idea niggling at her mind.

Following a hunch, Hermione turns to Ron and puts on her most patronising tone. 'Oh, so of course it's all Malfoy's fault, is it?'

'What, you think it's _Harry's_?'

'I think they both need to take responsibility for their actions.'

'Oh please,' says Ron, flushing red in his indignation. 'Malfoy deserves everything he gets. The guy is an absolute prick! It'd be just like him to start something and then get Harry in trouble for it! I wouldn't be surprised if the whole thing was some nasty plan to make Harry get stuck with him so he can do something even worse.'

'Oh, really, you think Malfoy planned for the teachers to punish them by making them sit together?'

'Well I don't know! I wouldn't past the evil little snake!'

And that's when Hermione's hunch pays off. Whatever guilt had been plaguing Harry pops like a balloon.

'It was my fault!' he blurts.

Ron blinks. 'Your fault?'

Harry flushes red. He glances around the table and lowers his voice.

'I…' he swallows, starting again, and Hermione wonders what on Earth could be so bad that he's this nervous. 'Look, I…I didn't say anything before because I was kind of embarrassed and by some miracle Malfoy didn't go shoot off his mouth the minute it happened but…I kind of…lost it…'

Hermione frowns.

'Lost it?' Ron asks, the irritation bleeding out of his expression as the confusion takes hold.

'Uh, yeah,' says Harry, and swirls his fork through his food, staring down at the plate unseeingly.

Hermione keeps her voice low and calm. 'Lost it how?' she asks, as gently as she can.

'Um, I lost control of a spell. That's how the classroom blew up.' He glances up, green eyes flashing to Hermione's and she can see the worry there. The embarrassment and the shame. 'It was my fault. I'm the one who blew it up.'

Somehow, the fight seems rather insignificant in the face of Harry's confession.

'Wait, you're saying you did all that damage by _yourself_?' asks Ron. 'Hell, I thought it was Malfoy for sure with some dark spell.'

Harry winces and Hermione sighs.

'Really Ron?' she asks. 'Harry, ignore him. He's just being an idiot.'

'Hey!' Ron objects, though sees the uncertainty on Harry's face and seems to realise what he's said. 'I just mean that whatever spell you used must have been crazy powerful.'

'Do you know why it happened?' asks Hermione.

Harry shrugs. 'No.' His gaze drops to the table, and Hermione purses her lips, frustrated that he's once again lying to her.

Ron shakes his head. 'Remind me not to piss you off,' he says, and grins at Harry, nudging his shoulder. 'Sorry I said all that about it being dark magic.'

Harry grins, and nods. 'Yeah, no worries.'

Hermione rolls her eyes. Idiots.


	9. Dancing

A/N: I know it's late, but I really wanted to get the tone right. Luna reminds me a lot of Anne of Green Gables, and I really wanted to capture that airy, off in the clouds nature. One more chapter and then things should start to kick up a gear.

* * *

Chapter Nine

 _Dancing_

 ** _Luna:_**

Wrackspurts are in the air. It is obvious, if one knows the signs to look for. Of course, few people do, but Luna is one of those special few blessed with the ability to believe in anything one put their mind to—wrackspurts being one such thing. Therefore, seeing as she is so adept at believing the unbelievable, she often perceives a great many things before others.

Such as the current state of the sixth years.

The problem begins, as it most usually does, with Just Harry. Luna detects a hint of Wrackspurts lurking around him at the start of the year. However, by the third week, that hint has become a full blown infestation.

Luna is sure that this infestation is in part to blame for the damage that befell the Defence rooms during an encounter between Harry and Draco Malfoy. She's sure of this fact, for the very next morning she detects the presence of Wrackspurts hanging around Draco as well.

From there, the invisible, microscopic creatures spreads amongst the sixth years like wildfires—most notably among the Gryffindors and Slytherins.

They befall Ron Weasley—who starts a relationship with Lavender Brown though anyone with any sense can see that partnership is doomed for failure.

They confound Pansy Parkinson, who chases after Draco Malfoy with renewed interest.

They obscure Theodore Nott, who withdraws further into himself than ever before.

The only one who seems to be free of the infestation is Hermione Granger. This is hardly surprising, for if Luna is one of those blessed with the ability to believe, Hermione is one of those blessed with the ability to _know_. She observes and consumes knowledge like a sponge that consumes water—but like a sponge, sometimes the knowledge drips away. Such things like Wrackspurts and Nargles and crumpled horned snorkacks (things that are not absolute _certainties)_ tend to be those things that drip out of Hermione's voluminous brain, making room for things of a more concrete nature.

Luna, like Hermione, observes a great many things in the weeks following the wrackspurt infestation, however, _unlike_ Hermione, Luna comes to an entirely different (and perhaps more accurate) conclusion simply by being willing to ignore past facts, and consider previously _unconsidered_ new ones.

'Have you ever noticed,' Luna asks Ginny (one of the few friends she can speak to about any topic without fear of judgement), 'how uncomfortable Harry gets when he's approached by people?'

Ginny looks up from her essay. There's a spot of ink on her nose that makes her resemble her brothers more than usual. Luna doesn't point it out. She feels that Ginny won't appreciate the comparison. Ginny isn't overly fond of being the youngest of seven, and while Luna understands the need to make a name and place for oneself, she can't help but feel that she herself would be positively thrilled to have siblings to resemble, no matter how annoying.

'Mm, I suppose so,' says Ginny, brown eyes darting over to the table where Harry and Draco Malfoy are actually managing to work on an assignment together.

They've only bickered a few times (they're on their last warning from Madam Pince—who is pretending not to glare at them from behind her desk) but have now been interrupted by a girl in Ginny's house.

The girl leans on the corner of the table, looking down at Harry with a wide smile and batting her eyes at him rather like she has something caught in them.

Luna can't hear what the girl asks, but she sees the way Harry sinks down in his chair somewhat, his eyes downcast as he tries to avoid her gaze.

Luna's mind, as it is want to do in such situations, reads the moment and translates it for Luna.

The girl becomes a prowling tigeress, lowering herself down on her haunches, a predator on the hunt. Harry leans back in his chair, which turns into vines where he sits, wrapping around him and tying him in place. He casts around, eyes frantic, but there's nothing to free him. The tiger gets ready to pounce. The ground beneath Harry starts to shake, starts to open up, ready to swallow him whole.

A huge, white wolf appears, skulking out from the shadows to place itself between Harry and the tigeress. He snarls, and the tiger balks. She reconsiders (a smart move being that she is much smaller than the large wolf), turns and bounds away. The wolf turns to face Harry.

The wolf, though large, is scrawny and starved. He keeps his distance though and after a moment he shakes himself off and trots away, back into the shadows, leaving Harry alone in his chair of vines.

Luna shakes her head free of the vision.

 _'You must keep your head on the ground, Luna, my love, and not away up in the stars in your fantasies,'_ she hears her father's voice say.

She sighs.

Back in reality, the girl stalks away from the table, her face flushed red. Behind her Malfoy is smirking as he watches her go. Harry casts him a grateful look, his shoulders relaxing in relief now that the unwanted advances have been deterred.

Ginny snorts. 'Serves her right,' she says. 'No wonder Harry's uncomfortable. Why can't they all just leave him alone?'

Luna tilts her head. 'He doesn't look uncomfortable now,' she says.

'Well yeah, Romilda's not there now,' says Ginny with a smile.

Luna rests her chin in her hand and doesn't point out that that's not what she meant. She wonder's if maybe Ginny has been infected by wrackspurts too?

'Have you finished your essay yet?' Ginny asks, frowning down at her own half finished homework.

'Almost,' says Luna. 'But I need another book.'

'Can I look at yours? I think I've gotten my terms mixed up.'

Luna offers her the parchment, and pushes up from the table. 'Be back in a minute,' she says.

Ginny waves her off, already engrossed in fixing her essay and Luna leaves her to her task, wandering off into the shelves.

She's not sure precisely what she needs to finish her essay, but she'll know it when she sees it. She always does.

She runs the tips of her fingers along dusty book spines, her fingers pattering along the soft fabrics and hard covers. She rounds the corner and almost runs headlong into Malfoy and Harry.

'Merlin, Lovegood, make a noise,' Malfoy snaps, taking a startled step backwards.

Harry hisses, shoving Malfoy forward and off his foot. 'Ow!'

'Sorry,' Luna says and peers around Malfoy at Harry. 'Hello Harry.'

'Hey, Luna,' says Harry, wincing as he shifts his weight off his trodden on toes.

'How goes your potions essay?'

Harry tilts his head, 'How'd you know we're working on potions?'

'Because this is the potions section, idiot,' mutters Malfoy, rolling his eyes. 'Honestly, how do you function?'

Harry rolls his eyes right back at Malfoy, sighing, but doesn't retort. Luna tries not to let her mind get away from her again, alas, she cannot help it.

They shrink down to children before her eyes, standing with their arms crossed, their shoulders touching even as they glare in opposite directions, like little boys too stubborn to admit they want to play together.

Luna hides a smile and turns to the bookshelf closest to her. The boys do the same, though only Malfoy is looking seriously, peering at the titles with a soft little frown.

'I was surprised you're not at your usual table?' Luna says to him, moving out of the way as he leans up to look at the shelves above her.

He glances at her, eyebrows raised.

'You have a usual table?' Harry asks, glancing up from the books he's clearly not paying attention to (seeing as he's somehow drifted into the Herbology section).

'The table at the back,' says Luna, gesturing over her shoulder toward the restricted section.

The tables aren't visible from where they stand, but Luna can picture to two little tables shrouded in low light where she has often seen Malfoy studying, a multitude of books sprawled over the tables.

'How do you know that?' asks Malfoy, grey eyes narrowed at her.

Luna shrugs. Her eyes settle almost instinctively on a cover, and she reaches for it, suddenly knowing why she'd needed to get up.

'I usually see you there during study break,' she says, turning to hand him the book. 'The Magical Creatures section is back there, and there's a few lounge chairs near your table that are rather comfortable to read in. Besides, it's quieter back there. Easier to think.'

Malfoy frowns at her, gaze wary, but as he glances down at the book she's proffering him, his expression clears and a smirk pulls at the corners of his lips.

Harry straightens from the books he's looking at and leans one shoulder against the shelves. 'Wait,' he says, eyeing Malfoy with raised eyebrows. 'You actually go to study break?'

'You don't?'

'Only when Hermione makes me,' says Harry.

Malfoy hefts the book in his hand and shakes his head. 'That explains _so_ much,' he says dryly.

Harry ignores him. 'If you have a usual table, why aren't we sitting there?'

Malfoy shoots Luna an annoyed glance. She shrugs at him, linking her hands behind her back and turning to look back along the shelves, keeping one eye on the boys and one on the books.

Malfoy sighs. 'Because I already have to put up with you in every single class I have, I'd rather not waste my free time with you too.'

Harry rolls his eyes. 'Your wasting free time with me now.'

'Yes, to finish this stupid assignment that I'm stuck working with you on.'

'Right,' says Harry. 'So, if this table of yours is out of the way, why don't we work there? At least then we wouldn't keep getting interrupted and you'll be free of me faster. Win, win, right?'

Malfoy smirks. 'What, scared of all your adoring fans, Potter?'

'Uh, yes.'

They're performing a dance. One that they don't yet know the moves to, but Luna can see the subtle indicators in their movements. Can hear the melody in the underlying tones of their voices and the missing words from their sentences. They haven't realised it yet, but then, they're still trying to find their rhythm.

'Like tigers hunting,' says Luna, before her gaze falls on another potions book. 'Or an Erumpent in mating season.'

Harry blanches. 'What? What the hell is an erumpent?'

Malfoy snorts. 'Merlin, Potter. Read a book. Haven't you ever been to a zoo?'

'Harry was raised by muggles,' Luna reminds him, pulling the book on erumpent properties off the shelf. 'He's probably never seen an erumpent.'

'Yes but he _has_ wizard friends, did no one ever think to take you?'

'No,' says Harry, crossing his arms. 'Look, have you found what we need yet? I'd like to get this done sometime _before_ dinner. We still have detention, after all.'

Malfoy rolls his eyes and shoves the book Luna gave him at Harry. 'Read this.'

Harry frowns down at the cover. 'Potions for the catastrophic creator…what…this is a book for people who suck at potions, isn't it?'

'Exactly,' says Malfoy. 'If you manage to absorb even a _sentence_ from that book, maybe we'll be able to get through a single potions class without you trying to kill us.'

'You're a real jerk, you know that?'

'Hey, Lovegood picked it out,' says Malfoy, raising his hands and smirking again. 'Besides, it's a good book.'

'Yeah, if you're an idiot,' Harry scowls.

'Actually, that was the first book on potions I ever read,' says Malfoy. 'Granted I was eight, but then, we can't all be gifted. I suppose even the "chosen one" isn't perfect.'

'Oh fuck off,' scowls Harry.

'Fine,' says Malfoy, lifting his chin. 'Do your essay on your own.'

He stalks off, his shoulders taut and Luna once again sees that starved, aloof wolf overshadowing him. She sighs.

'I swear to god,' growls Harry, glaring after Malfoy. 'He's going to drive me insane.'

Luna pats his arm sympathetically. 'Did you know that despite their size, erumpent are known to be quite shy?'

'Er, no, I didn't know,' says Harry, glancing at her.

Luna nods. She taps the front of the book Harry is holding. 'There's an interesting chapter in here on Erumpents. Their horns are used in a lot of potions, see? But to get their ingredients they must be lured out during mating season. They've been hunted so extensively that many have become distrustful of even their own kind, so that even when they find a potential mate, they dance around each other, trying to decide whether or not they can be trusted. It's quite fascinating.'

'Er…right,' says Harry, and glances down at the book. 'Do…do you really think I need this book?'

'Hm. It's a very good book,' says Luna. 'It was my mother's favourite. She believed every muggleborn should read it. You see, most potions books assume a general knowledge of the wizarding world. This one doesn't. Hence the erumpents.'

Harry shifts his weight and looks up, frowning after Malfoy. 'Why couldn't he just say that?'

'He did,' says Luna. 'In his own way.'

Harry sighs. 'Right. Why does he have to do everything the hard way?'

Luna laughs.

'What?'

'Nothing,' Luna says, and smiles. 'I just can't help thinking how alike you both are.'

Harry sputters. 'We are _not_ alike!'

Luna shakes her head and decides that she really must start working on her wrackspurt charms, before the situation gets out of control.


	10. Idiosyncrasies

A/N: Yes, it's late. Life happens. But I've got the next four chapters lined up so we're good for the next two weeks at least (and there's even some forward movement in the next two chapters! Hazzah!)

* * *

Chapter Ten

 _Idiosyncrasies_

 ** _Lisa_**

Unlike many of her fellow year-mates, Lisa has so far managed to avoid any particularly inflammatory encounters with Gryffindors and Slytherins during her years at Hogwarts. She even managed to steer clear of any of that _Dumbledore's Army_ nonsense last year. And yet, all her efforts to keep her nose down and her studies up come to an abrupt screeching halt all because of Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter.

She supposes she should be surprised that it hasn't happened sooner. So far as she can tell, almost _everyone_ in her year has been affected by the feud between the two rivals. However, she certainly didn't expect them to cause her any problems in _Muggle Studies_. Especially considering neither of them had ever taken the course before.

'Mr Malfoy,' Professor Burbage sighs for the umpteenth time in several weeks, pausing mid lecture to look imploringly over at the blond.

Malfoy, as usual, ignores her, scratching out something that looks suspiciously like a potions essay.

He is, of course, the only Slytherin in their class—a fact of which Professor Burbage had initially been excited when McGonagall had walked the two reluctant boys into class the month before.

Lisa could understand, to a point, why the Muggle enthusiast had been so pleased at the prospect of enlightening a Slytherin to the prejudices and misconceptions regarding Muggles, but she—like the rest of their class—had sensed that Malfoy was not going to be the shinning pillar of change that the Professor thought he would be; and with every lesson that he sat at his designated seat next to Potter, scowl firmly in place as he focused his attention on anything _but_ the cheery, eager Professor, Lisa could feel the woman's resolve cracking.

She only hoped that the inevitable fallout would not be too disruptive to her studies.

'Mr Malfoy,' Professor Burbage repeats, louder.

Potter, who has his chin propped in his hand, sighs and breaks away from his intent study of Hogwarts grounds to turn and poke Malfoy in the ribs. Malfoy jerks, his head snapping up and around to glare at Potter. Potter tilts his head and nods toward the front of the room where Professor Burbage is still waiting for a response. Lisa resists the urge to snort. Subtle.

Malfoy narrows his gaze, and turns to the Professor. 'Yes?' he asks.

'Mr Malfoy, if you don't wish to be here—'

'I don't,' Malfoy drawls lazily. 'If you recall, this some ridiculous form of punishment—something I don't deserve, mind you.' He accents this statement by throwing Potter a particularly scathing look.

Potter rolls his eyes and mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like, 'Drama queen.'

Malfoy glowers and, after a moment, punches him in the arm.

'Ow!' Potter rubs his arm, grumbling, but by some miracle doesn't retaliate.

Still, Lisa casts a sticking charm to her inkwell, very aware that her table (situated directly behind the pair) is likely to get caught up in any squabble that may breakout.

Professor Burbage closes her eyes and Lisa wonders if she's counting to ten. When she opens them, she says, 'Punishment or not, you are expected to listen and participate, Mr Malfoy. It's been over a month and you've yet to hand in any of your homework.'

'What's the point?' asks Malfoy. 'I've never taken this class before, I don't know _half_ the stuff you're talking about—'

Potter snorts. 'Did you just admit that you're bad at something?'

Malfoy glowers, 'That's not what I said, Potter.'

Potter drums his fingers against the table, eyeing off Malfoy with an expression that Lisa suspects is _designed_ to piss the Slytherin off. She inches her chair backwards.

'It _sounded_ like that's what you said,' says Potter.

'Well I _didn't_ —'

'Boys, please!' Professor Burbage tries again. She rubs her temple. 'As you've been told, Mr Malfoy, if you are struggling with the coursework you merely need to ask one of your classmates or myself for help.'

'I already offered,' says Potter. 'If I recall he told me to fu—er, "bugger" off and not speak until I'd learnt how to articulate myself like an intelligent human being.'

Malfoy smirks, then shakes himself (as if realising that he doesn't find Potter funny) and flicks Potter a glare, 'I don't _need_ anyone's help, Potter, least of all _yours_.'

Potter returns the smirk in a manner eerily reminiscent of the Slytherin he's mocking (a clear indication that they've been stuck spending far too much time together). 'You'd be lucky to get my help,' he says, still leaning on his table. 'This class is _easy_. I don't even have to listen and I'm still passing.'

'Great,' Lisa mutters under her breath. 'Then shut up so the rest of us _can_ listen.'

Next to her, Earnie McMillan stifles a snort of laughter, quickly turning it into a low cough before anyone notices.

'Well,' says Professor Burbage, breaking in with a rather frustrated exaltation. ' _Thank you_ for that assessment Mr Potter.'

Lisa raises her eyebrows. She slides a piece of parchment out from behind the notes she's been taking and jots down a few observations. From her previous recordings, she had expected Malfoy to be the cause of Burbage's inevitable meltdown, but apparently it was Potter's casual dismissal of her class that was going to break her. The boy tries (and fails spectacularly) to apologise.

'No, it's quite alright,' the Professor says briskly. 'I understand that for a muggle-raised child like yourself the concept of electricity and technology may seem rather dull to you; but as you've so eloquently pointed out not all people in this class are as familiar with the subject of this class as yourself. Therefore, perhaps you'll benefit from pairing up with Mr Malfoy here and working on your assignments together? Perhaps if you're focused on helping each other, you'll refrain from anymore interruptions for the rest of the class?'

Potter sinks in his seat, ducking his head in that familiar way she's noticed when he's incited someone's ire (besides Malfoy's, of course).

Malfoy snorts. 'Good going, Potter.'

'You know,' says Earnie, leaning closer to Lisa to keep from being overheard. 'I think they're actually getting better at this.'

Lisa glances at him sideways, raising her eyebrows. 'Really? This is better?'

'Oh yes,' says Earnie seriously. 'I'd have expected broken bones by now. They've truly started to show some restraint. Harry especially, but then, that _is_ to be expected.'

Lisa flicks her gaze back at Potter and Malfoy in disbelief. She regards the Hufflepuff next to her and tries to decide whether or not his judgement can be trusted. She taps her quill and glances down at her observations.

Earnie doesn't _seem_ like a Potter worshipper, though he did take part in the DA.

'In fact,' says Earnie. 'I've been seeing an improvement in house relations all around.'

Lisa raises an eyebrow. 'You have?'

Earnie nods seriously.

'So you actually think this is working then?' she asks.

'Oh yes,' nods Earnie. 'Professor McGonagall was very astute to pair them together. After all, Harry's goodwill can only do Malfoy some good.'

'Oh please,' Malfoy says loudly, catching their attention. 'It's not like this class is _necessary_.'

Professor Burbage's face goes red. 'Perhaps you would feel differently if I gave you detention?'

Malfoy shrugs. 'I already have detention.'

'So you don't mind failing then?'

'It's _muggle studies_ ,' Malfoy points out again, sneering.

Professor Burbage raises one eyebrow, her shoulders pulling back. 'Very well,' she says and turns sharply.

Malfoy and Potter both look surprised. They glance at each other, baffled, but the minute their eyes meet they look away again.

Lisa rolls her eyes. She glances at Earnie and says, 'I hope they get kicked out.'

He grins at her. 'I hear there's a bet going around. Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas are taking guesses on when they irritate a Professor into expelling them.'

Lisa grins. 'Aren't they Gryffindors?'

'Yeah, but Seamus and Dean bet on everything. Although, I've heard a rumour that there's _another_ bet—'

Professor Burbage turns around and Earnie cuts off. She stalks over to Potter and Malfoy's shared desk, and drops two books in front of Malfoy (who jerks back rather comically).

'What's this?' he asks.

'I hear you like reading novels,' she says briskly.

'You do?' Potter asks, eyebrows raised as he turns to look at Malfoy.

Indeed, Lisa is surprised too. The last thing she'd expect to be on Draco Malfoy's hobby list is _novels_. She makes a point of jotting that tid-bit down in her observation list.

'These,' says Professor Burbage, ignoring Potter. 'Are two fantasy novels. One, is written by a wizard. The other, is written by a muggle. If you can tell me which one is which, with adequate reasoning, I'll pass you for the entire year.'

Malfoy straightens up.

'Wait, _what_?' Lisa blurts, gaping at Professor Burbage.

The rest of the class (all five of them, excluding Potter) gape at the Professor.

'That's not fair,' Earnie says. 'How come the rest of us can't have that option?'

'However,' says Professor Burbage, holding up a hand to the class objections. 'If you get it _wrong_ , or if I suspect you've had help, or if your reasonings for the book you've chosen are not adequate; then you will participate, willingly and without complaint, in every class for the rest of the year. Along with completing your equal share in a joint project with Potter.'

Everyone looks at Malfoy.

Potter leans over to have a look at the titles while Malfoy and Burbage have their staring competition.

'One of those is written by a wizard?' Potter asks, eyebrows raised.

'It is indeed,' says Professor Burbage, still staring at Malfoy. 'Though I doubt any of you students would be able to tell the difference.'

'Tch,' Malfoy says Lisa can almost pin-point the moment Malfoy caves to the challenge in Professor Burbage's gaze. He snatches up the books. 'We'll see about that.'

At this, Potter starts to chuckle. Malfoy shoots him a dark glare and Potter ducks his head. He presses his face into his arm and tries to stifle his laughter.

'What's so funny?' Malfoy asks, affronted.

Potter looks up at him, a large grin stretching across his face. He glances back at Lisa and Earnie.

'Trust me, you don't want that option,' he says, in answer to Earnie's earlier question. 'I was raised by muggles and I've no idea which author is the wizard.'

Malfoy rolls his eyes again. 'Please, Potter,' he says, selecting a book at random and opening it up. 'You obviously don't read.'

'I've read those,' Potter says, his tone delightful and just shy of antagonistic.

Malfoy pauses, glancing sideways at Potter.

Potter's enjoyment in this situation is palpable. He settles back in his chair, smirking, and gestures at the book in Malfoy's hands.

'That was my favourite book as a kid,' he says. 'If I had to pick one, I'd put my money on that being the one by the wizard.'

'Well,' says Malfoy stiffly. 'I wouldn't trust your judgement to save a dying kitten, Potter.'

Potter just laughs.

Lisa sighs and wonders if they'll _ever_ get back on track for the lesson.

Earnie leans over to her and says in a low voice. 'I wonder if we can ask Professor Burbage for copies of those books. I'm interested in how dissimilar they are.'

Lisa leans up slightly in her chair, trying to catch a glimpse of the title of the book. 'Me too,' she says distractedly, tilting her head to read the words, wondering desperately who "Matilda" was and why she needed a whole book?


	11. Rattling Somethings

Chapter Eleven

 _Rattling Somethings_

 ** _Blaise:_**

'Draco, darling, why are you _still_ reading that horrid muggle book?' asks Pansy at breakfast.

'It's not a muggle book,' Draco mutters. 'Pass the coffee would you?'

Pansy arches one eyebrow at him, disdain flashing through her eyes. Draco has been switching back and forth between the two books for the last several days, scrawling sheets and sheets of notes to the point that it was bordering on obsessive. He'd barely participated in conversations, choosing instead to grunt, or plain ignore them. Pansy, obviously feeling left out, fumes, her finger nails drumming along the table top.

Blaise catches her eye and nudges the pumpkin juice closer to her. She smirks, picks up the jug and pours a mug for Draco, handing him the cup diligently.

Draco takes a sip and—to Blaise's immense amusement—doesn't even notice.

'I didn't think you'd decided which one was the wizarding novel yet,' says Blaise, smirking.

This, at least, garners a reaction. Draco's gaze flicks up at Blaise, narrowed and irritated. 'I would, if you all didn't keep irritating me while I'm trying to concentrate.'

'You've read it three times,' says Theo tiredly, staring down at his breakfast with a rather nauseated expression. 'Surely you know by now.'

'You've read it three times?' asks Vince, wrinkling his nose as he squints at the book. ' _Why_?'

'He has to, for class,' explains Greg, although that isn't at all the reason.

Vince shrugs. 'Don't know what's so interesting about a book?' he turns to Millicent—who is sitting on his other side—and asks, 'You don't like reading, do you?'

She laughs. 'No,' she says and Vince nods in relief.

Blaise raises an eyebrow and nudges Theo pointedly in the ribs. 'Theo,' he hisses, nudging him more when the sullen boy doesn't look up. 'Do you _see_ that?'

Theo sighs, and Blaise gives up, instead shooting Pansy a pointed look and gesturing his head toward Vince and Millicent.

Alas no one else seems to be paying attention and Blaise is left with the familiar frustration of being surrounded by intelligent people and yet being the _only_ one who ever notices things. He sighs.

'It's been a week,' says Pansy, still trying to draw Draco out of his book. 'It can't take—Potter, what the _hell_ are you doing here?'

Potter drops down in the seat opposite Draco, a grin plastered firmly in place as he reaches out and snags the book out of Draco's hands.

'Hey! Give that—Potter? What the hell are you doing here?'

Potter's grin broadens, looking back and forth between Draco and Pansy. 'Do you guys practice your outraged responses?' he asks, reaching for some bacon. 'Because they're eerily similar.'

He drops his gaze to the book, pushing his glasses up as his gaze scans the page. 'Oh, I love this bit,' he says around a mouthful. 'You know, I had a secret crush on Sophie when I was a kid?'

Draco tries to snatch the book back, but Potter leans back, jerking the book out of reach. 'Fascinating as this depressing tale is, Potter,' Draco growls. 'I want my book back.'

'Really? But I thought you didn't like boring muggle books?' Potter taunts, grinning.

Draco pauses, gaze flickering down to the cover as uncertainty flashes through his gaze. He shakes his head, fists clenching as he glowers, as if his glare alone will pierce a hole in Potter's head.

'Well played,' Blaise says, nudging Potter.

Potter throws him a mischievous wink and Draco glowers. He points his fork at Blaise.

'You stay out of this,' he snaps. 'Potter, give me my book back.'

Potter shrugs, closes the book and hands it back. 'Sure,' he says. 'I prefer the movie anyway.'

Confusion and—yes, there it is, curiosity. Draco has never been very good at not knowing things. 'Movie?' he asks. 'What the hell is a movie?'

Potter leans over the table, as if he's divulging a secret. 'I could tell you…but then how would you tell Professor Burbage that you think all muggle inventions are rubbish?'

Draco rolls his eyes. 'Fuck off, Potter.'

Potter laughs. 'Sure,' he says. 'But first, which one are you picking, I'm curious.'

'Why should I tell you?'

'Well, seeing as your decision directly affects the rest of my year in muggle studies, I figured I have a right to know.'

Draco scoffs. He reopens his book and pointedly begins reading again. Potter watches him for a moment, head tilted, green eyes bright and contemplative, a smile building at the corners of his mouth.

Blaise wonders if the boy realises how readable his expressions are. He tries to catch Theo's gaze, but the boy is still staring morosely at this food, so Theo kicks him under the table. Theo winces and shoots Blaise a sharp glare. Blaise widens his eyes and tilts his head ever so slightly toward Potter. Theo's looks and his eyes narrow.

'Is there are reason you're still sitting here, Potter?' asks Pansy, drumming her nails along the table top.

'Just ignore him,' Draco mutters, already absorbed back into his book. 'It's what I do.'

The grin erupts back onto Potter's face. 'You couldn't ignore me if—'

'Oi, Harry!'

Potter stops mid sentence, leaning back to glance toward the shout.

Weasley and Granger stand near the entrance hall. Weasley has a baffled look on his face, staring at Potter as if he's lost his marbles. Granger just looks amused. Blaise catches her eye and smirks. She arches a brow and rolls her eyes.

'Gotta go,' says Potter, pushing up. He pauses, hands still on the table as he looks down at Draco. 'But you better make a decision fast. Today is the deadline for class projects, and I'm picking one with or without you.'

Draco scoffs. 'As if I care,' he says.

Potter straightens, smirk slipping back into place. 'Great. Just checking,' he says and shoots Blaise another wink. 'Guess I'll just go with the toaster then.'

Draco's shoulders tense. His brows furrow and his eyes have stopped moving and Blaise just _knows_ he's trying to figure out if he knows what a toaster is. Blaise, for one, doesn't have a fucking clue.

'If you think for one second I'm spending an entire year studying something that cooks bread, you've got another thing coming Potter.'

Potter laughs, surprise making his voice carry, and Blaise sees several students from other houses turn to stare.

'I'm impressed,' says Potter. 'Maybe there's hope for you yet.'

Draco looks up again, a scowl firmly in place and no doubt a scathing retort of epic proportions prepared and ready to be delivered but Potter is already gone, hands in his pockets as he joins his fellow Gryffindors.

'Well, that was weird,' says Blaise, turning an inquiring gaze back on Draco. 'Seems you two are getting on better.'

Draco scoffs. 'Potter is a moron.'

'Perhaps, but your tolerance for said moron seems to be improving.'

'One will develop a tolerance for anything given enough exposure,' says Draco, refocusing back on his book. 'I'm just trying to keep from catching that Gryffindor idiocy. I still despise him.'

'Duly noted,' says Blaise, with only a _little_ sarcasm.

Draco, of course, doesn't notice. He's already been sucked back into his book.

Blaise is bored. His fellow sixth years have long since abandoned him for homework or sleep, a fact that has Blaise rather disappointed being that it's a friday night and all. Really, who goes to bed before nine on a _friday_?

He should've been in Gryffindor. He'd bet his entire wardrobe that _they_ didn't sit around doing homework and sleeping on a weekend.

The common room door swings open.

Blaise looks up from his languid inspection of the ceiling to see Draco step through, not even bothering to close the door behind him. He makes his way across to the group of sofas recently acquired by the sixth years (an acquisition that resulted in a rather vicious scuffle between Pansy and two seventh years and yet another restructure in the power hierarchy that ruled over Slytherin house).

Blaise straightens. 'You're getting in late,' he remarks.

Draco dumps his bag on the table and drops into the couch. 'Is it?' he asks, letting his head fall back.

'Er, yes,' says Blaise. 'In fact, I'd actaully though you'd already gotten back. Didn't detention finish over an hour ago?'

Draco grunts, but doens't offer any explanation. Blaise shrugs and decides to snoop amongst the items that have spilled out of Draco's bag. Several books, some notes and a strange little black box have scattered themselves across the table. Blaise frowns and picks up the small, rectangular box, except there is a wire attached. He gives it a curious tug, and the thing comes loose. The wire splits into two, coming to an end with two strange little rubbery buds on the end.

'What's this?'

'Hm?'

Blaise glances up to see that Draco hasn't moved. He's still stairing up at the ceiling in much the same manner that Blaise had been mere moments before.

'Er, the black…cube thing.'

Draco shrugs, not bothering to look away from his inspection of the ceiling. 'Apparently it's called a "walkman". Whatever that means.'

'I see.'

'At least someone does. I've no fucking idea what it does.'

Blaise grins. 'I take it muggle studies didn't go quite according to plan?'

Draco sighs. 'I picked the wrong book,' he says. 'Now I have to spend the whole year doing…something. I forget.'

Blaise chuckles. 'Very informative.'

Draco doesn't even bite. Blaise tilts his head.

'So,' he says after a beat of silence. 'Which book was it?'

Seeing that Draco had changed his mind four times over the course of the morning—and once more in the half hour before class—Blaise isn't sure which book Draco had actually chosen.

'Matilda was the muggle book,' says Draco.

'She was the one you thought was exhibiting accidental magic?'

'Yep.'

'I see.'

Draco sighs again. 'Life is confusing,' he says to the ceiling.

Blaise's eyebrows shoot up. Considering this is probably the longest conversation the two of them have ever had without it coming to insults, Blaise has to agree with that statement.

'It is indeed,' he says, then, deciding that it can't hurt to ask, he says, 'But why in particular?'

'Well for starters it just doesn't make any logical sense,' says Draco, and he sits up in a sudden surge of movement, straightening to face Blaise. 'Matilda was the book whose magic was the same as ours. Granted, she didn't have a wand, but then, neither did Howl. But _his_ magic was so utterly different, so why does it make any sense at all that _that_ book came from a wizard and Matilda came from a muggle? And the writer didn't even have _any_ connections to the wizarding world. I checked.'

'Er, well…' Blaise says, but Draco continues.

'Then, Professor Burbage has to go and be all understanding. You know she actually apologised? To _me_? I've been a complete prat in her class, you know. I was hoping she'd kick me out, and then I wouldn't have to spend another blasted hour of my day stuck with _Potter_ who….who…Ugh!'

'I take it detention didn't go well, either,' remarks Blaise.

Draco blushes. He actually blushes and it takes Blaise's brain a moment to catch up to what he's seeing. In what universe does Draco Malfoy _blush_?

'I…no,' says Draco, though he doesn't at all sound sure. 'He's just so…I mean I can't…I just…'

'Despise him?' Blaise suggests.

Draco opens his mouth. Closes it. Shakes himself. 'Right,' he says. 'Exactly.'

His blush, if possible, deepens.

'Did something…happen?' Blaise asks.

Nothing really changes in Draco's expression, except that nothing really changes. There's no shock, no comical widening of the eyes at Blaise's suggestion, no embarrassed squawk; but then there's no outrage either. No flush of anger or indignant screech of protest.

'No,' says Draco, his voice even.

'Oh,' says Blaise.

Silence stretches between them. Draco's blush fades and he glances down at the mess his bag has spilled onto the table. His eyes find the strange little muggle contraption still clutched in Blaise's hands.

He blinks. 'I'm going to bed,' he says in a rush and practically disappears before Blaise's eyes.

Blaise turns, watching the blond bolt down the stairwell toward their dorm and almost feels impressed at how clearly rattled Draco is. 'Jesus Potter, what did you _do_ to him?' he mutters, and then adds, 'And can you teach me how to do it?'

* * *

A/N: For once I'm pretty happy with this chapter. And the next chapter. And especially the chapter after that *wink wink*. I know it's been a bit of a slow burn, but if you guys stick with it, I promise that at the very least by next Monday, there's gonna be some major fluff.


	12. Flustered

Chapter Twelve

 _Flustered_

 ** _Professor McGonagall:_**

As Minerva approaches the latest room Potter and Malfoy have been tasked with cleaning, she notices a distinct lack of arguing. Usually, by the time she arrives to release them from their weekly detention they've devolved into endless bickering.

Worry settles in her gut, and as she opens the door she prepares to send one or both of them to the Hospital Wing. She's already thinking of ways to punish them for whatever fight they've had (moving their detentions to friday nights obviously hadn't made much of an impact) so she's surprised when she steps into the room to find Draco Malfoy sitting at the front of the room, fingers drumming on the table top and completely alone.

'Mr Malfoy,' she says.

The boy jerks, head snapping around to look at her, grey eyes going wide in shock. 'Professor,' he says, as if he hadn't expected to see her.

She raises one eyebrow. 'Were you expecting someone else?'

'Er, no,' says Malfoy, gaze dropping back down to the tabletop.

Minerva's interest pique's but she lets none of it show on her face. Her gaze flicks around, scrutinising the room.

'Where's Mr Potter?' she asks.

'He, uh, he was,' Malfoy frowns down at the table top, twisting his hands around the rag he's been cleaning with. 'He was sick.'

'Sick?' Minerva asks, voice sharp. 'What happened?'

Malfoy shrugs. 'I don't know,' he says, and he sounds frustrated, glaring down at the rag he's twisted around and around.

Minerva can't help the surprise from showing this time. She pauses, suspecting that Malfoy is telling the truth. She tries a different tactic.

'Did he show up?'

Malfoy nods.

'But he left?'

'Yes,' says Malfoy, and a flash of that familiar disrespectful ire crosses his face. 'Like I said. He…wasn't feeling well. He left.'

'I see,' says Minerva, though she doesn't. 'You were okay with that?'

Malfoy shrugs. 'Not like I had a choice when he left,' he mutters.

Minerva purses her lips. 'Well, rest assured Mr Malfoy, I will speak to Potter about shirking his responsibilities—'

'Uh, please don't,' says Malfoy, looking up at her.

Perhaps it's the unexpected "please", but she doesn't berate the boy for interrupting her. 'Why not?'

Malfoy frowns. He shakes his head, glances up at her and drawls, 'Well he _did_ look more pathetic than usual, and personally I'd rather finish the job myself than risk catching whatever disease Potter is trying to spread around the school.'

Minerva yet again raises her eyebrows. The words are right—for Malfoy, at least—but the tone of his voice is off. The irritation not quite as convincing as it usually is. Minerva frowns and flicks another glance around the room.

It's spotless, but that doesn't stop the suspicion from whirring in her mind. Malfoy's behaviour is just too odd. Something else has happened here tonight.

Unfortunately, as her gaze settles back on Malfoy, she very much doubts that she's going to get any answers here.

'Very well,' she says. 'I will refrain from speaking to Mr Potter, provided this doesn't happen again. You're in detention together for a reason, if you recall.'

Malfoy scowls. 'I recall.'

'Good, you may go.'

Malfoy all but flees the room, leaving Minerva to wonder whether or not she should bother tracking down Potter to find out what happened. She decides against it, realising that Albus would only question her if he found out, and she doesn't need to give the man any more reason to play favourites than usual.

 ** _Luna:_**

There's a faint glow to the night air, as if a flock of fairies have come streaming through the corridors lacing the air with hopes and dreams and babies laughter. There's no hint of wrackspurts, and Luna wonders if her charms are starting to work, or if something else has chased them off. Something like the glowing beauty of a storming night.

Luna smiles, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. She adores storms. They are the lifeblood of the earth, filling the air with a vibrating hum that echoes through her bones right down to her soul. She wants to rush outside, burry her toes in the grass and just gaze up into fury of the storm.

Even from inside she can smell it. She breathes it in. The fresh smell of rain, the dewy tang of grass and the musky scent of…broomsticks?

She comes to a stop, barefoot on the cool marble floor, and opens her eyes.

Harry Potter is walking toward her, completely soaked from head to toe, his school shoes squelching with every trudging step along the hallway and leaving little puddles of water in his wake.

He doesn't notice her and she smiles, wondering what daydreams his mind has taken him to. She pauses, are they called day dreams when it's night time?

With a little shake, Luna breaks herself out of her thoughts and steps to one side, smile widening as Harry passes right by her without even seeing her.

Normally she would call out to him to say hello, but he looks so at ease (despite his sodden state) in his wanderings that she doesn't have the heart to break him from whatever reverie he's lost in.

There's no sign of the wrackspurts that have been plaguing him. Indeed, his shoulders are relaxed, and the usual creases around his eyes are smoothed out. They have a faraway, lost look about them, as if he's not entirely here—and Luna suspects he isn't.

She watches him go. Somewhere in the distance the thunder roils, and Luna decides that if Harry can be off enjoying the rain, then so can she.

She turns and heads off with new resolve, leaving Harry to wander about the Castle, lost in the glow of the stormy night air.

 ** _Neville:_**

'Bugger, bugger, bugger, bugger,' Neville chants, hurrying along the corridors.

He's late. He's very, very late. He's so late that his clumsiness hitches up a notch and he trips up the first step of the stairwell leading from the great hall and drops his bag.

Books and notes and soil samples spill everywhere, cascading down the steps and scattering across the floor. He curses. He curses again. Then he blushes at his own use of the rather colourful language.

With a helpless sigh, he pulls out his wand and flicks it at his things, trying to order them back into his back. They resist him, scattering off into various directions, and he frowns, trying to concentrate.

'Back in the bag,' he mutters to himself.

He's still getting used to his new wand, and as his worry sores (twisting around his stomach like Devil's Snare) he jabs at the items a little too hard.

More magic than he knows what to do with shoots out of his wand. His inkwell explodes, but this rather seems to encourage the rest of his things to do as they're told, and aside from his ruined ink everything else stacks itself obediently in his bag.

With a sigh of relief, he grabs at it and hurries back up the stairs.

Only to run headlong into someone two floors up. He staggers backwards, his head spinning, and wonders if it's at all possible for him _not_ to have a catastrophic day.

'Sorry,' he says, rubbing his head and looking up. 'Didn't see you—Malfoy?' he chokes off, coughing over his own words once he sees who exactly it is he's run into.

He flinches, waiting for the inevitable hex or stinging insult, but Malfoy just blinks at him. 'Longbottom,' he says, and his gaze flickers over Neville's shoulders. 'Where are you coming from?'

'Er,' says Neville, and he's so surprised by the lack of hostility that he actually answers the question. 'The greenhouses. I was finishing some homework.'

Malfoy's gaze flicks back to his face. 'Downstairs?' he asks, but before Neville can affirm that, yes, he was in the greenhouses downstairs (he's not entirely sure if this is a joke, but one can't be too careful when concerning Malfoy) the other boy continues. 'Haven't seen Potter, have you?'

'Er, no, sorry.'

Malfoy frowns, a scowl flitting into place, and Neville swears he sees a hint of disappointment in the expression. 'Damn,' he says, and he's looking back down the hallway again, as if Harry will just magically appear there. 'If you see him, tell him I'm looking for him.'

'Er, sure.'

Malfoy nods. He starts to step around Neville, only to pause and turn back. 'And, uh, tell him that he owes me. Again. For covering for him, that is. With McGonagall.'

Malfoy runs a hand through his hair, dislodging the normally pristine style he has it in, and sighs. He looks around the corridor and frowns.

'You should probably get back to Gryffindor,' he says. 'It's almost curfew.'

Then he turns and disappears back in the direction Neville came from.

Neville stands there in the corridor, completely baffled, and not entirely sure that the minute he starts walking again he isn't going to be hexed.

He shakes his head, tries to put Malfoy's bizarre turn of character out of his mind, and focuses on the one important thing Malfoy said.

It's almost curfew, and he _really_ doesn't want to be the cause of Gryffindor loosing yet _more_ house points.

 ** _Madam Pomfrey:_**

She hears the Infirmary door burst open from two rooms away. Marking her place in the book she's researching, she tucks it and her notes safely away in a draw before casting a soft, but strong locking charm and heading out into the infirmary.

Poppy pauses in the doorway and reflects that she shouldn't be surprised to see Harry Potter pacing back and forth along the base of the beds. She watches him for a moment, noting the tension in his shoulders, the clenching and unclenching of his fists, the way he chews on his bottom lip as he marches back and forth across the span of three beds.

She notes, with some amusement, that he's gravitated toward his usual bed, and considers that a sign that he is, at least, still mostly in control of his faculties.

'Mr Potter,' she calls and he whips around so fast she's surprised she doesn't hear the crack of a broken bone.

'You're here,' he gasps, and something like relief washes over him—except that it's a little too desperate to be relief. 'You have to help. I… I think there's something _wrong_ with me. I…I did something. I did something _nuts_. It's crazy. I've gone _crazy_.'

'Sit down, Potter,' she says sharply, crossing over to him.

As she nears, she realises that he's soaking wet, and as he drops onto the edge of his bed, her first order of business is to cast a drying spell.

'I think I've gone mad,' he says again.

He's pale and shivering and looks up at her from behind his glasses with a wild sort of desperation.

'Head down, Mr Potter,' she says and summons several calming droughts.

He lowers his head, leaning on his knees and letting it hang toward the floor.

'Deep breaths,' she instructs, and casts another diagnostic spell.

She frowns. Despite his clear agitation, he's not having a panic attack. She casts another spell, searching for any bumps or bruises or breaks; when that spell turns up nothing, she tries another.

Once his breathing has retuned within the range of normal, she asks, 'What happened?'

'I…I did something,' he says again, his words slightly muffled.

He runs his hands through his hair and groans.

'I did something _insane_ ,' he amends, and then he's up again, surging to his feet.

He stares at her, eyes wide, and then jerks away and begins to pace.

'It doesn't make any sense,' he says. 'I don't…I'm not…I don't _understand_. How can this just _happen_? To _me_? About _him_? God, I think I'm gonna throw up.'

Poppy frowns. There's no hint of foul play. No hexes, curses or jinxes. Not residue potion. Not tell-tale signs of a fight. He's perfectly healthy.

Well, as healthy as Potter ever is.

He's not even having a panic attack. Not a real one, anyway. No, this is something that she's beginning to recognise as a normal, teenage freakout (for want of a better word). She sighs.

'Potter—'

'I didn't even _realise_ ,' he says, mumbling now, his eyes wide and his breathing growing rapid. 'How could I not _realise_. It doesn't make any sense. I must be under a spell. I'm under a spell, right? _Right_? Because…because if I…if I…oh god I can't even _say_ it.'

'Potter,' Poppy barks, growing exasperated. 'calm down and just _tell me_ what happened.'

Finally Potter stops his restless pacing and sinks back into the bed with a heavy defeat. He stares at the floor and mumbles something incoherent.

'Sorry?'

He sighs. 'I kissed him,' he says, and glances up at her. 'I kissed Malfoy.'

Well, she wasn't expecting _that_.


	13. Kiss

A/N: here it is at last! Short and sweet. I've been waiting to post this chapter for weeks and now we're finally up to it. Major fluff warning ahead, and a little sappy goofiness as well.  
Also, there's a few hints buried in this chapter for you.

* * *

Chapter Thirteen

 _Kiss_

 ** _Harry:_**

The change comes gradually…unexpectedly, creeping through Harry's thoughts with such subtlety that he doesn't notice until it's too late. Until he's well and truly transfixed. Until his mouth is pressed firmly against unexpectedly soft lips, drawing forth a faint gasp of air, a sharp intake of breath that sends the heartbeat under Harry's palm racing and warmth bursting through Harry's insides like warm honey. Honey and lemons, he thinks, the smell tickling at his nose, drawing him further into this momentary insanity without him even realising.

He's too caught up in the moment to realise. At first at least. After all, it's so nice, this warmth. Comforting. _Safe_.

A soft smile lifts his lips and he draws back, feeling more content than he has in weeks. _Months_ even. Since before…well he can't even remember.

Unfortunately it's right about then when reality comes crashing down around him.

The stunned, too-wide expression on Draco Malfoy's face jerks him back to the present and a cold feeling of horror washes over Harry, chasing away the contentedness.

'Oh god,' he whispers.

He scrambles backwards, off Malfoy, and straight back into the pool of spilled water—which had been the cause of their ending up sprawled on the floor together in the first place. That and the argument they'd been having.

Malfoy sits up, slowly, still giving Harry that wide eyed stare and Harry thinks he might throw up. Or pass out. He's not entirely sure which, only that his insides have just turned to jelly and his brain is short circuiting over the monumental realisation that he's just kissed Draco Malfoy.

He, Harry Potter, Gryffindor extraordinaire, has just laid one on Draco Too-Good-For-Everyone Sodding Malfoy. Which begs the question of _why—_ the only logical answer of which sends Harry into full blown panic mode.

Did he…?

No…no it's absurd. He can't. He _doesn't_. Does he?

He stares back at Malfoy. At the wide grey eyes and high cheekbones and the soft, pale hair slightly ruffled from their tousle and consequent fall. _Not_ from the kiss. He looks at Malfoy's lips, and the slight part. His breath comes in short sharp bursts and he can smell the lemon and honey scent again and it's at once calming and terrifying.

Holy shit.

Holy fucking shit.

He _does_.

Harry tries to swallow but finds his throat has gone dry. His chest restricts painfully and he's all too aware of the baffled confusion and mounting realisation building in Malfoy's expression and oh god he wishes the ground would swallow him up whole right here and now.

He does the only thing he can think to do under the circumstances. Right as Malfoy is opening his mouth to speak—no doubt to rightfully ask what the _fuck_ Harry thought he was doing—Harry scrambles to his feet and runs.

He bursts out the door of the classroom they're supposed to be scrubbing, staggers down the hallway in a momentary loss of balance, rights himself, and bolts.

Harry is good at running. Always has been. He thinks he hears a shout behind him, but he doesn't care. He doesn't care that he's just ditched out on detention. Or that McGonagall will probably blast him for it when she finds out. Or that he's left Draco Bloody Malfoy sitting baffled in a puddle of spilt cleaning water.

All he cares about is running.

He runs until he can't breathe. Until he can't think. Until the endless churning chorus of _I kissed Draco Malfoy. I kissed Draco Malfoy. Oh my god I fucking kissed Draco fucking Malfoy._ Is drowned out by the rush of blood in his ears and the desperate panting of his own breath.

When he finally stops running, he's at the astronomy tower. He supposes he shouldn't be surprised. Years of Harry Hunting have conditioned him to seek out the highest possible point to hide. Probably why he enjoys flying so much.

He blinks out at the pouring rain, sweaty and puffed, his heart hammering against his chest and feeling oddly calm despite the heavy droplets quickly soaking into his school robes.

'Okay,' he mutters softly to himself and runs his hands through his already damp hair. 'Okay. It's okay. You can handle this. It was just a kiss. Albeit it's _Malfoy…'_ he shakes his head, spattering water everywhere, and leans back against the cool stone wall. 'There has to be a logical reason, right? I mean, I don't just go around kissing random blokes, so maybe it was a hex or something. Or…or…'

For the life of him he can't think of anything else. Nothing, of course, except the obvious.

Moments start crashing through his mind. The Alley. The Attack. Draco sodding Malfoy desperately casting healing charms and cradling his head. Draco pulling him into the space between carriages on the Hogwarts Express so no one could see Harry having a melt down. Draco Malfoy taking him to the Hospital wing and not telling a single person when Madam Pomfrey declares that he's fine, he's just having _panic attacks_.

He shakes his head again. 'Get a grip, Harry. These are not reasons to like Draco Malfoy. It's just some…weird phase of having a conscience.'

Except that having a conscience doesn't explain why Malfoy willingly got obsessed over muggle books and knows what a toaster does and is okay with Harry's choice of class project (if a little reluctant and weary).

Harry slaps his hands to his cheeks. Hard. 'You _do not_ have a crush on bloody Malfoy,' he says. 'He's not even that nice! It was just…a moment of insanity!'

Insanity. Yeah. Like talking to yourself in the rain at the top of the astronomy tower.

The astronomy tower, where Draco made a dig about Slughorn that made Harry laugh. Draco had been so surprised, his eyes almost a soft blue as he stared at Harry before offering a small, amused smile that softened his features. He'd looked so nice like that. Unreserved. Open. Attractive, even.

'Fuck,' Harry whispers, the pit of his stomach clenching. ' _Fuck.'_

Yep. Insanity.

Clearly he's gone stark raving mad.


	14. Blushes and Excuses

**A/N:** I know, I know, I'm two updates behind. Have no fear, I've not abandoned the story already. Rather, there's a severe stomach bug going around the city I live in and I've spent the last week being violently ill, which doesn't really lend itself to good writing - thus why this chapter is so short. Never fear though, I hope to make it up to you, if not in the next chapter but the one after that.

Anyways, I hope you enjoy, even if it is a little on the shorter side :)

* * *

Chapter Fourteen

 _Blushes and Excuses_

 ** _Blaise:_**

Draco is missing. This isn't an entirely unusual circumstance as the boy is _always_ disappearing (Blaise half suspects that Draco only does it to rouse his housemates curiosity), but following the blushing incident the night before, Blaise's interest is more than roused.

As such, when lunchtime rolls around and Draco still hasn't shown up, Blaise takes an entirely different route to his table—in that he _doesn't_ go to his table. He goes instead to Gryffindor.

Ignoring the raised eyebrows from both the Gryffindors and no doubt his own housemates he slides into the seat opposite Potter with a genial smile.

'Morning Potter,' he says. 'Haven't seen Draco lurking around anywhere have you? We seem to have misplaced him.'

Potter, who had barely even noticed Blaise sitting down despite the drop off in conversation around him (honestly, _this_ was the saviour of the world?) almost chokes on his breakfast. 'What?' he asks, hoarse and strained as he tries to breathe through the food he's just inhaled. He looks up at Blaise with wide green eyes. 'No, why would I know where Drac—Mal-Malfoy is?'

Blaise smirks and raises an eyebrow at the slip up. So, it's _Draco_ now, is it?

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Granger narrow her gaze at Potter, those sharp brown eyes (rather pretty, now that he's paying her some attention) watching her friend with piercing intensity. Blaise can almost see the cogs turning in that voluptuous brain of hers.

'Just an hunch,' says Blaise, and reaches out to snag a piece of bacon out from under Weasley's hand. 'He's not in any of the usual places, so I figured I might check the _unusual_ places. Unusual, these days, tends to mean you.'

By now, a significant portion of the table is eavesdropping and Blaise relishes in the irritated glare Granger is not-so-surreptitiously shooting his way. Well, if she didn't want him goading information out of Potter she should've been more explicit with the specifics of their bet. As it is though, teasing Potter into tripping up is fair play.

Potter himself is tense as a wire, and yet more than a little flustered. An interesting red tinge creeps up his neck. For someone so often in the limelight, Potter isn't exactly comfortable under scrutiny.

'Me?' he asks.

Blaise inclines his head. 'You.'

Potter frowns. 'So, because we have to share classes together now, I must know where he is at all times?'

'Well you two _have_ developed a habit of sneaking off to the library,' Blaise says. 'You can blame us for thinking you might know where his new hideouts are.'

'Are you trying to imply something?' Weasley snaps, but Granger puts a calming hand on his arm.

'You can hardly call it _sneaking off_ when neither Harry nor Malfoy are making any effort to hide the fact they're studying together,' she says mildly, raising at eyebrow at Blaise as if he's foolish for thinking otherwise (and, he notes, deliberately keeping her voice at hearing volume for all those listening in). 'What do you expect them to do? Fail their assignments?'

Blaise smirks and dips his head in acknowledgement. 'True,' he says, but he's still watching Potter.

Watching the way the red flush intensifies up Potter's neck when Blaise accuses him of "sneaking off", the way he shifts, glancing at his friends and down at his plate, frowning and unable to quiet meet anyone's gaze.

'Look, I don't know where he is,' he says in a low voice, oddly compliant all of a sudden. 'You'll have to ask someone else.'

'Hm,' says Blaise, and props an elbow on the table. 'Somehow I'm unconvinced.'

Potter's gaze snaps back up, irritation flashing. 'You think I'm lying?'

'No,' says Blaise. 'But I think if I hang out here long enough, Draco will turn up.'

Weasley rolls his eyes. 'Harry's already said he doesn't know where the stupid git is, so why don't you go look somewhere else?'

Blaise smiles.

'Fascinating though this conversation is,' says Granger, sounding oddly like the very person they've been talking about. 'We have plans for the afternoon.'

'You mean, aside from meeting up with Malfoy?' Weasley asks, grinning at Potter.

Potter just frowns.

'Oh,' says Longbottom, piping up from two seats down of Blaise, looking at Potter with those earnest, puppy dog eyes. 'he was looking for you, by the way.'

Potter blinks. 'Who was looking for me?'

'Malfoy,' says Longbottom. 'Last night.'

'Last…last night?' Potter asks, going pale.

Longbottom nods. 'I ran into him on my way back to the tower. Sorry, I meant to tell you but I was worried about getting back before curfew, and you didn't get back to the dorm until late anyway…'

Longbottom trails off, seems to realise he's let something slip that he shouldn't have and flushes a bright crimson colour, dropping his gaze back to his breakfast.

'You didn't get back until after curfew?' Granger asks, her voice sharp but her gaze steady and unblinking.

Blaise has to admire her control of tone; the whipcrack force that conveyed concern with just the right amount of underlying disapproval to have Potter flinching at her words.

'I, er, detention ran…late,' says Potter, dropping his gaze down and away.

'Oh?' asks Blaise, his smirk widening. 'Interesting.'

'Why is that interesting?' Weasley asks, rolling his eyes and shooting Blaise a particularly unpleasant look. 'Are we done here yet?'

Considering that he still has half a plate full of food with no signs of stopping anytime soon, Blaise highly doubts that Weasley is in any great hurry to get to these supposed "plans" the trio have.

There's movement in the corner of Blaise's eye. Someone with rather blonde hair has just entered the Great Hall, but Blaise doesn't take his eyes off Potter.

'Just that Draco _didn't_ get back late from detention last night,' says Blaise. 'Curious, isn't it?' before Potter can answer, Blaise shifts his focus, the smirk never wavering from his face, and looks up into the furious gaze of one Draco Malfoy. 'Ah, Draco, _there_ you are. I thought you might show up here.'

'I'm surprised you had any _thoughts_ at all, Zabini,' Draco drawls, cool grey eyes steady on Blaise's face.

Blaise grins, but it's Potter's reaction that's interesting.

The minute Draco speaks, Potter jumps. He looks up, going even paler, making the bright pink blush that swarms across his cheeks stand out even more. His adams apple bobs and he drops his gaze almost instantly.

Draco doesn't even look at him. 'Are you done with whatever game you're playing? I'd rather not stay too long, I might catch something.'

Weasley bristles, but again Granger lays a hand on his arm.

'Maybe you could catch some manners,' she says, glaring.

Draco flicks her a contemptuous glance, but otherwise keeps his gaze steadfastly _away_ from Potter. Something that neither Blaise nor Granger miss (if her narrowed gaze is any indication).

Blaise, for his part, looks around and smiles lazily. 'You know, I think I am done, actually.' He tips an imaginary hat to Granger and pushes up from the table.

'So,' says Blaise, shoving his hands in his pockets as he follows Draco away from the table. 'Just _where_ have you been?'

'Flying,' Draco says shortly. 'Needed to let off some steam.'

'Oh?'

Draco says nothing and Blaise knows he's not going to get anything further out of him. Whatever is on his mind, flying has—at the very least—helped him regain his composure. His thoughts are back under lock and key and there's not even a hint of the elusive blush Blaise had seen the night before; nor the baffled confusion.

Nothing except that steadfast refusal to even _look_ at Potter. No sneer, no snarky, taunting comments. Whatever happened in detention the night before, it has both of them on edge.

Suddenly, Blaise can't _wait_ for class on Monday.


	15. Curse

A/N: Bonus chapter since I was so slack last week (and since this is a small one). Also, I apologise, I've barely edited this - I'm on a roll so I didn't really stop to reread. Anyways, enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Fifteen

 _Curse_

 ** _Hermione:_**

Glass shatters into the quiet hum of the potions room as ingredients and tools go scattering across the table and floor, drawing the attention of every head in the room, including Hermione's.

Harry's face is crimson, and he stutters out a half hearted apology, already ducking down to grab at the things he's just dropped everywhere. Hermione raises an eyebrow, her gaze going almost instinctively to Malfoy who is, curiously, staring at Harry with caution—as if he's worried any sudden movements might startle Harry even further.

Considering how jumpy Harry's been this morning, Hermione doesn't blame him. Setting her cauldron to stir twenty more times on it's own, she slips from her chair and ducks down to help Harry.

'You okay?' she asks.

Wide green eyes snap to her face. His fingers brush against a bulbous root, sending it rolling further across the floor. 'Er, yeah,' he says, voice low and cheeks flushed as he reaches out after the root. 'Just clumsy.'

She offers him a reassuring smile, gathering up several of the ingredients. 'I think most of them are still usable at least.'

'Yeah,' he says.

He stands and she follows him, depositing the ingredients back on the table. Harry glances at Malfoy, flushes, and drops his gaze back to his notebook.

'Sorry,' he mumbles.

Hermione watches them for a moment, carefully placing her own handful of gathered ingredients on the table with deliberate slowness.

Malfoy blinks. 'Sure,' he says, his voice stiff. He's still watching Harry with that cautious gaze.

He catches Hermione looking, frowns, and turns back to his cauldron. 'Think you can manage not to throw everything off the table again?'

'There's no need to be rude,' Hermione says before she can help herself.

Harry shoots her a desperate, and yet silencing glare. 'Don't,' he whispers to her. 'I've got it.'

Hermione grits her teeth, but nods. 'Alright,' she says, and lays a hand on his arm. 'You sure you're okay?'

Malfoy sighs. 'He's a big boy, Granger. He can handle two hours without your help.'

Harry flushes again and pulls his arm free of her.

Hermione nods, stepping away from the table, but glaring at Malfoy for good measure. He stares back, impassive and immovable.

When he turns back to Harry, he pauses, as if making sure Harry has his eye son him before he moves. Hermione doesn't hear what he says, but she sees the way Harry's shoulders relax and assumes that whatever is going on between them they've decided to do what they always do and ignore it in favour of classwork.

Hermione rolls her eyes, but gets back to her potion. A moment later someone pokes her in the back, and Hermione turns to see Ron leaning forward behind her.

'What was all that about?' he asks.

Hermione shrugs. 'I don't know,' she says honestly. 'You didn't notice anything strange this morning, did you?'

Ron shrugs. 'No,' he says. 'Although…he had another nightmare last night.'

Hermione frowns. Nightmares _could_ explain why he was so on edge today, and yet, Harry tended to grow quite and morose when he was dwelling on nightmares. This jumpiness was different. The blushing and the instant apologies and instinct to duck his head. It was as if he was embarrassed, as if he expected everyone to just start laughing at him.

The smell of lavender caught Hermione's attention, and she turned back to her cauldron, ready to implement the next step.

There's a splash to her left, followed quickly by a gasp. 'Fuck!'

Two seconds later Harry and Malfoy's cauldron explodes.

Harry, leaning over his ingredients slicing carefully, looks up. He takes off his glasses and wipes the goop off, glancing over at Malfoy who is covered head to toe in bright blue potion. The boy is scowling furiously, glaring at his cauldron. Harry winces.

'Er,' he says. 'I really hope that wasn't my fault.'

'No,' scowls Malfoy, kicking at the cauldron. 'It wasn't your bloody fault. Fuck's sake.'

Professor Slughorn comes bustling over to their table. 'Now, now Mr Malfoy, whilst a regrettable outcome, it's not worth such language,' he says, pulling out his wand and giving it a swift flick.

Some of the sludge, which somehow didn't manage to spatter any further than the immediate radius around their desk, siphons away into a vial the professor produces from inside his robes.

'Here you are,' says the Professor, holding the vial out to Harry. 'Take that up to Madam Pomfrey and have her check you both over. I'm sure there'll be no harm done, but can't be too sure now, can we.'

He smiles, flicks his wand again and Harry and Malfoy are both clean.

Harry seems to hesitate. He looks down at the vial in his hands as if he's unsure what to do with it.

'Off you pop,' says Slughorn. 'On to the Infirmary now.'

Harry blinks, slipping his glasses back on, and glances over at Malfoy. 'Er, together?'

A few people chuckle, Malfoy rolls his eyes and Hermione frowns.

'Of course he means together,' Malfoy says, reaching over and yanking Harry out of his seat. 'Fear not Potter, I'll keep ten metres away at all times if it helps keep you calm. Heavens knows I can't afford to catch anymore of your clumsiness than I already have.'

Malfoy is still scowling as he shoves Harry's bag at him and stomps toward the door, only glancing back over his shoulder at the door to give Harry an impatient look.

The blush is back, and a surge of frustration sweeps over Hermione as she watches her embarrassed friend hurry after Malfoy, looking more confused and far less annoyed than he usually does.

Just _what_ is going on with Harry?

Later, after Harry has fumbled his way through the rest of the days classes (drawing more attention to himself since the start of the year), Ron and Hermione sit waiting for him to get back from his second mysterious meeting with Dumbledore.

When he does, he traipses into the room with a vacant expression—almost reminiscent of Luna, except for the little frown marring his features.

'Hey Harry,' says Ron. 'How was it?'

'Confusing,' says Harry, sinking into the couch with a sigh. 'And exhausting.'

Ron smirks. 'The woes of the chosen one.'

Harry rolls his eyes but grins. Hermione shoves at Ron's shoulder.

'I thought you didn't approve of that title?' she says.

Ron shrugs. 'Hey, a title is a title. And anyway, the girls are going nuts over it. You know at least three chicks asked me about you today? Even despite the way you bumbled through the whole day.'

He sniggers, shooting Harry a cheeky grin that Hermione does _not_ find attractive. Hermione pulls her gaze away from him, and the pleasant way it makes his face look, and refocusing on Harry.

'You will be careful, won't you?' she says. 'With all those girls?'

Ron snorts. 'What's so dangerous about a few girls with their eye on Harry?'

Hermione purses her lips. 'Nothing,' she says. 'If that's all they continue to do.'

Ron makes a face. 'What's that supposed too mean?'

'It means that the ends don't always justify the means,' she says and sighs, looking at Harry and offering him a small smile. 'I just want you to be careful, that's all.'

He returns her smile and nods. 'Trust me,' he says. 'I'm not interested in any of them.'

Ron rolls his eyes again and shakes his head. 'Bonkers,' he mutters.

'So,' says Hermione, changing the subject. 'What did you learn from Dumbledore?'

Harry hesitates, chewing on the inside of his mouth and frowning at the floor. His fingers pick at the armchair in a motion that Hermione is sure is subconscious.

'Just more about Tom's past. About his parents. His mother kept his father under a love potion,' he says.

Hermione refrains from pointing out the irony in this given the conversation they'd just had.

'You don't…you don't think that I'm like him, do you?' Harry asks in a quiet voice.

Ron glances up from his essay, chewing on his quill. 'Hm? Like who?' he asks, completely oblivious as usual.

Hermione, however, has a sinking feeling in her gut. She thinks she knows _exactly_ who Harry is talking about.

'No,' she says. ' _No_ , Harry. Of course not.'

'But we look alike, and we have similar backgrounds, and we both speak parseltongue.'

Hermione shakes her head. 'You told us last time that when Dumbledore went to see him, he was already cruel and he liked to hurt people. That he kept trophies. Harry, does that sound like you? You kind and caring and _good_. You're _nothing_ like Tom Riddle.'

'Mate,' says Ron, realisation crashing over him, along with disgust and outrage. 'You're mad if you think you're anything like that psycho.'

Relief washes over Harry. He smiles down at his hands. 'Thanks, guys,' he says.

'Is this why you've been acting so strangely?' Hermione asks.

Harry blinks, tilting his head at her. 'Strangely?'

Hermione pauses. 'Yes,' she says. 'Today, you've been a bit jumpy.'

'A bit?' Ron snorts. 'You knocked over at least three inkwells. Plus one of mine, I might add.'

Crimson floods Harry's face. 'Oh,' he says, his voice pitching higher. 'Erm, right. Er. I guess…Dumbledore's meetings are, they're um, a lot to think about.'

His eyes are too wide, and his voice—still too high—has that same undercurrent of embarrassment as earlier this morning. Hermione frowns and Harry drops his gaze.

'Say, uh, what was the assignment for Potions, again?'

Annoyed that he's once again lying to her, Hermione debates telling him to figure it out himself. Then she sees the nervous way he's still picking at the armchair, and the confusion warring with the embarrassment on his face and takes pity on him.

She sighs. When he's ready he'll tell her what's on his mind. For now, she'll just have to settle for helping him with his homework.

 ** _Theo:_**

The trunk lid was open, it's contents scattered across the floor as Theo dug through it. A letter from his father lay discarded on the floor, telling him exactly what to look for. He pulls out more books and pristinely folded clothes, throwing them carelessly around him, mindful of the fact that he only has a limited amount of time before his dorm-mates return.

Something crinkles and at last, Theodore sees it. The small, brown paper wrapped parcel. He reaches for it but stops just shy of touching it, remembering his father's warnings.

Summoning his wand, he levitates the parcel out and then, carefully, with dragon-hide clad hands, he peels back the paper.

There within lay a jewelled silver necklace. It's large, and yet finely intricate, each opal set within detailed silver bands, all linked together to form something his mother would love to wear. Not that he'd ever want his mother to wear it.

Theodore swallows, dark gaze flickering over to the letter.

 _Beware of it's touch, Theodore, for it has killed many before you._

Carefully, he wraps the necklace back up and, with a quick flick of his wrist, sends all of the items on the floor careening back into their rightful place within the trunk.

Collecting the letter off the floor and the parcel, Theodore kicks open his own trunk and places the items deep within, beings sure to place a powerful locking charm (one far more powerful than the simple spell Draco had used to shield _his_ trunk—especially considering it's contents) on it.

Then, with a deep breath, he turns and stalks out of the room.


	16. Flirting With Danger

A/N: Please read!

A few of you noted that the last chapter was a little confusing and I just wanted to clarify a few things because I can't be bothered rewriting it.

The first is that it's not my intention for Hermione to come off as a bitch. She loves Harry and Ron, and cares about them, but she's also naturally curious and so it's in her nature to want to figure things out - like this mystery with why things have changed between Harry and Draco.

The second is that writing this story from external characters can make it a bit difficult to convey things. For instance, I have to write Harry and Draco's reactions to events without the narrators knowing what they're reacting _to_ , which, of course, can lead to misinterpretations. Thus, Hermione asked Harry if he was acting so strangely because of his meetings with Dumbledore; when in reality the true reason for his embarrassment was working together with Draco post kiss and being unsure of where they stand. Hermione realises that the meetings are _not_ what caused him to be so clumsy, and thus, is frustrated that he's still not being honest with her (like he's not being honest with her about Diagon Alley).

Which brings me to the last point: Theo taking the cursed necklace, and Diagon Alley. Any and all references to these two events are deliberately vague. Rest assured that I am leading toward revealing what's going on with both these events, but not for some time yet, so please be patient. For the next 12 or so chapters though you can expect things to be much fluffier and Harry/Draco centric.

Thanks for reading and sticking with me so far. Double thanks to those of you leaving reviews; while I'm enjoying writing this immensely, your thoughts and feelings are always welcome and appreciated!

* * *

Chapter Sixteen

 _Flirting with Danger_

 ** _Ginny:_**

Harry sighs and fidgets with his shirt for the thousandth time. It's a nice shirt, green like his eyes. Ginny remembers her mother making him try it, and a slew of others, on when he finally outgrew his second hand clothes from his cousin.

'I hate parties,' he mutters.

Ginny shoots him a grin. 'Gee really? I'd have never guessed,' she says with a teasing smile. 'C'mon Harry, lighten up. It's Halloween.'

Harry rolls his eyes. 'I just wish they wouldn't all stare.'

Ginny shrugs. 'Give it an hour and they'll realise you're as dull as the rest of us and get bored.'

'Gee, thanks,' he says.

Ginny pokes him in the ribs. 'Hey, d'you want the attention or not?'

'Not,' he says. 'You know at least four different people I've never met before have come spoken to me tonight?'

'Let me guess, all girls?'

He frowns at her. 'Yeah, how'd you know?'

Ginny chuckles. 'Because I saw one flirting with you as I came over.'

Harry blanches. 'Flirting?'

'Don't sound so horrified,' Ginny laughs. 'It was bound to happen eventually.'

'But…why?'

Ginny laughs. 'What do you mean why?' she asks. 'I would've thought it was obvious.'

'No, just, that's not what I meant,' says Harry sighing. 'This whole flirting thing is impossible. I can't do it. They come and talk to me but what they're saying isn't actually what they're saying, you know? It's all riddles and games.'

Ginny laughs again and he sighs, running his hand through his hair and mussing it up even more than usual.

'Well what about with Cho? You flirted with her, didn't you?'

'Yeah, badly,' says Harry, flushing red. 'You make it look so easy. How did you know, you know, that you wanted to be with Dean?'

Ginny tilts her head and considers the question. Dean himself is over in the corner with Seamus, both of them whispering over some heinous prank no doubt. She smirks and shrugs.

'I dunno, I guess I knew he was interested and I enjoyed spending time with him. Plus, he's hot.'

Harry frowns and stares off across the room. 'See, now that's the other problem,' he says, and sighs. 'Even if I _could_ figure out what the hell they wanted, they're just not really my type.'

'Well, who _is_ your type?' she asks, and nudges him. 'Or do you already have your eye on someone?'

She's teasing, but when he blushes, dropping his gaze quickly, her eyes widen.

'Oh my god, you _do_!' she says in delight. 'Who?'

Harry shakes his head. 'No, no!' he says hurriedly. 'I don't.'

She scoffs. 'Please, you can't lie to me, Harry Potter. You fancy someone, you just don't want to admit it.'

Harry rolls his eyes, but he's still blushing. 'Can we not have this conversation please?'

'You started it,' she says. 'What with all your talk of girls.'

It's his turn to scoff. 'Yeah, you lot are a whole other species.'

Ginny grins and bumps her shoulder against his.

'You just need to relax a little, here, I'll go get you a drink. I'm sure someone's spiked it by now. Maybe _then_ you'll tell me who it is,' she shoots him a wink and wanders off to fetch them drinks, ignoring his protests.

Dean is still off in the corner with Seamus, and Ginny offers him a flash of a smile and a wave as she passes. Dean grins at her, winking, and she winks right back.

When she turns back around, two drinks in hand, she sees that Harry has once again been cornered, this time by a tall, busty brunette Ginny recognises. She sighs and rolls her eyes. Romilda Vane. As vain as her last name implies and as equally vapid. Harry is leaning away from her, looking far more terrified than he has any right to be.

Ginny grabs the two drinks, ready to storm over to Harry's rescue, only to see Malfoy (of all people) appear at Harry's elbow. From the furious red flush that blossoms on Romilda's face, Ginny can only assume that he's said something appropriately scathing. She smirks, and inches closer to listen in.

'Surely even _you_ can find someone with more substance to talk to, Potter,' says Malfoy, turning slightly so he's in Romilda's personal spacing—forcing her to take a step backwards.

She glowers at him, her fists clenched at her sides. 'Did you just call me stupid?' she snarls.

'Oh, I'm sorry,' says Malfoy. 'I'd meant to dumb that down enough so that it was clear. Yes, I _did_ just call you stupid.'

Romilda looks expectantly at Harry, who blinks back at her. Clearly frustrated that Harry isn't jumping to her defence, Romilda turns to Malfoy and snaps,

'Why don't you slither on back to your den of snakes, Malfoy,' she says. 'No one wants you here!'

'Oh how very original, you know I don't think I've ever heard anyone call me a snake before,' drawls Malfoy, and he turns to Harry, completely ignoring her. 'About our Muggle Studies assignment. I think I have an idea.'

Harry raises his eyebrows, gaze flicking back and forth between Romilda and Malfoy. 'You do?'

Romilda huffs, crossing her arms and glaring at the back of Malfoy's head.

He grins, as if sensing her ire and finding enjoyment out of it (which, he probably does). 'Yes,' he says, as if Romilda isn't even there. 'It'll mean having to have a conversation with Zabini, seeing as you managed to get me kicked out of Ancient Runes, but I think it'll work.'

'Great,' says Harry. 'Let me know if I can help. You know, without breaking anything.'

Romilda finally senses that her scheme to talk to Harry has come to a fruitless end and stomps away, muttering about Slytherins and Malfoy's. Malfoy watches her go, amusement lighting up his face and making him look far less menacing than usual.

He turns back to Harry, smirking. 'Still frightened of your fans, I see.'

Harry breaths a sigh of relief. ' _Thank_ you,' he says. 'And yes. Terrified. Especially of _her_.'

Malfoy's smirk broadens and he glances over his shoulder at Romilda. 'Yeah, watch out for that one. She'll eat you alive,' he says, and throws Harry an amused, almost predatory glance. 'And we can't have that.'

'Funny, I seem to recall you hoping I'd get eaten by giant spiders two weeks ago,' says Harry, but he's smiling.

He leans back against the wall, crossing his arms but looking far more relaxed in Malfoy's presence than he had in Romilda's. Two months doesn't seem enough time to have them so at ease with each other, forced co-operation or not, and yet the smile that passes between them is downright _friendly_. Ginny stifles a surprised laugh and makes a mental note to find out who is holding that rumoured bet about Harry and Malfoy being friends. She's got her eye on a new broom after all, and if what she's seeing is any indication, than she has this bet in the bag.

'Well, yes,' says Malfoy. 'And I suppose seeing you married off to the likes of some trussed up bimbo _would_ be a little amusing, but it's a rather dull outcome for the "Chosen One", wouldn't you think?'

'Dull?' Harry asks. 'That's one word for it. And how would you have me come about my end?'

'Wouldn't you like to know?'

'Well, yeah, that's why I asked.'

Malfoy snorts, and shakes his head. 'Hopeless,' he says, then he flicks his gaze appeasingly over Harry's clothes. 'Nice shirt, by the way. Very…Slytherin.'

'Glad you approve,' Harry quips, grinning.

Malfoy leans forward. 'If you wanted my approval, all you had to do was ask,' he says, coyly, and then—before Harry can respond, he takes two steps back, smirks, and heads back across to his group of Slytherins across the room.

Ginny can only gape. Harry is still watching Malfoy saunter away. There's a smile hiding in the corners of his lips, not quite showing, but she sees it. Knows what it means. She dumps the two drinks on a nearby table and stalks over to him.

'Oh my god,' she says, and Harry's green gaze shifts to her face, eyebrows creasing in concern.

'What?'

She shakes her head at him, glances after Malfoy. 'Holy mother of Merlin,' she says.

Harry raises his eyebrows, clearly completely baffled.

She wants to squeal. The realisation is bursting in her chest, aching to get out, and yet she's acutely aware of the _very_ crowded room. Ginny grabs his arm and yanks him toward the door.

'Ginny?' Dean calls as she all but hauls Harry past her boyfriend. 'Oi, where're you two going?'

'Be right back!' Ginny calls over her shoulder, and sees the baffled looks the two boys exchange, Harry shrugging helplessly at Dean as she pulls him along.

Ginny yanks open the door, glances about the corridor beyond and spies a nearby cupboard. She drags Harry over, shoves him through, and slams it shut behind her—locking it for good measure.

As soon as she turns around to face Harry, she blurts it out. ' _Malfoy_? You fancy _Malfoy_?'

It's almost comical, the way his eyes go wide, the way his expression pales into complete horror as his mouth drops open, speechless and sputtering.

'What? No! I—No, that's not, I wasn't, I _didn't_ …'

Ginny holds up a hand. 'Harry, please. I already told you you can't lie to me. Besides, you know how you said you don't know how to flirt? Well _that_ , back there? That was flirting! And don't tell me you weren't checking him out as he was walking away.'

' _Flirting_?' he asks, his eyes bulging; then, to her amusement, Harry covers his face. 'Oh my god,' he says, his words muffled by his hands. 'This is _not_ happening.'

'So…what then? You _don't_ fancy him?'

His hands drop away and he says—in a particularly whiney voice—'I don't know!'

'You don't know?'

'No! I mean, I guess? I suppose. I mean I have to, right? After all, normal people don't just go around flirting and kissing guys they don't like so…'

'Wait, hang on, you've _kissed_?' she does _not_ shriek. Much.

Harry looks like he'd rather die than have this conversation right now. Which is too bad for him, because they are _definitely_ having this conversation.

'Who else knows about this?'

'No one!'

'Not even Ron or Hermione?'

'Are you kidding? _Especially_ not Ron or Hermione. Can you imagine what would happen if they found that I _kissed Draco Malfoy?_ Ron's head would probably explode. Hell, _mine_ almost exploded and I did it! I even went to Pomfrey!' He takes a deep breath, lets it out and leans back against the wall, running his hands over his face. 'Oh this is a disaster.'

Ginny rolls her eyes, but makes no effort to contain the broad grin that's stretched out across her face. 'Oh, don't be so melodramatic,' she says. 'I won't tell anyone. If anything…I'm mostly just confused. I didn't even know you're gay.'

Harry scoffs. ' _You're_ confused? Try being me.'

This time she does hide her grin. 'I can't believe you kissed him. What did he do?'

'I dunno,' he says to the floor.

'What do you mean you don't know?'

It should be impossible for his face to get any redder, and yet, it does. 'I, uh, kinda ran away,' he says, rubbing the back of his neck.

'You…oh Harry,' she says and shakes her head, laughing.

'It's not funny! I don't know what to do. It was an accident.'

'How do you accidentally kiss someone?'

'Apparently, very easily!'

'More importantly, how do you accidentally kiss _Malfoy_? Especially after everything he's put you through. I mean, you guys blew up a classroom. Not to mention whatever the hell that was on the train.'

'What? The train? He didn't do—oh,' says Harry, straightening up as some of the embarrassment dies away. 'He didn't do anything to me on the train, he helped me.'

'Helped?'

Harry nods. 'Yeah. I…I freaked out. At Slughorn's compartment. Then I ran into Malfoy. He was trying to calm me down, so no one would see.'

'But…' she pauses, trying to think about what she actually saw. 'Oh. I thought he was trying to hex you or something.'

Harry shakes his head. 'No,' he says. 'And that classroom, that was my fault. I, er, I messed up a spell. Lost control of it. _That's_ why the classroom blew up. Malfoy didn't have anything to do with it. Well, no, he _was_ being a prat, but what I mean is I was the one who destroyed the place.'

'Oh,' she says. 'So…things really have changed, then?'

He shrugs again, shoving his hands into his pockets. 'Yeah. I mean, I guess so? It's all…weird. It's been weird for a while. Ever since…' He trails off, his gaze dropping away, and the green in his eyes darkens as his expression gets far away. Like he's not really there.

It's an expression Ginny's seen before.

'You mean…at the Alley?' she asks.

His gaze flickers up to her, but suddenly she can't read him anymore. 'Yeah.'

'Something happened at the Alley with Malfoy?'

He nods again. 'It was all messed up. And…well the thing is he saved my life. But…but no one can know that. Or at least he doesn't want anyone to know.'

Ginny's eyebrows shoot up. She crosses her arms and leans back, considering him.

'You…you're not angry or anything, are you?'

She raises one eyebrow. 'Why would I be angry?'

'Well, I mean it's _Malfoy_. Even I'm unsure, and I'm the one who…with the…er, well you know.'

She grins again. 'Yeah, I know,' she says. 'Look, You can't help the way you feel, Harry. And if you like him and he's not being a total prat than fine. I say go for it.'

'You do?'

'Sure,' she says, shrugging. 'I mean, if I think about I guess he hasn't been as big a pain in the arse as usual. In fact, none of them have been. Who knows, maybe you're a good influence? Anyway, Luna likes him.'

'She does?'

Ginny snorts. 'Yeah,' she says. 'I mean, I just chalked it up to Luna being Luna, but she's got good instincts, I'll give her that. Though, if he hurts you, I swear to Merlin nothing will protect him from my bat boogey hex.'

Harry laughs. Relief washes over him, and he gives her a grateful smile.

'Just so you know,' she says, unlocking the door and stepping out into the hallway. 'Now that I know, you have to keep me in the loop.'

Harry laughs. 'Alright,' he says, and runs a hand through his hair. 'Actually, it'd be nice to have someone to talk to about it. I feel like I've been loosing my mind.'

Ginny grins. 'I bet you do. Did you really go to Pomfrey?'

The blush swarms back into place and he ducks his head. 'Er, yeah,' he says. 'I thought I'd been hexed or something.'

Ginny tries valiantly not to laugh, truly, but she can't help it. Giggles erupt and Harry shoves her.

'Prat,' he mutters.

'Dork,' she retorts.

They head back into the party, and Ginny can't help but look for the blond haired Slytherin. He's still with his posse of housemates, but his eyes are on the door when they walk in—as if he was watching for them. The minute he catches sight of her looking, he scowls, his gaze flicking away in disinterest, but not before she sees a flash of something else flicker across his face. A hint of jealousy, perhaps? She grins. Oh, this was going to be fun.


	17. More

Chapter Sixteen

 _More_

 ** _Draco:_**

He wakes gasping, his chest tight. Something is wrapped around him, pinning him down to the bed. His breath shortens, ragged and hoarse, blood pounding in his ears. Oh god. Ohgod, ohgod, ohgod. He can't move. He can't move and he's going to die. Flashes of screams and muted explosions echo in his mind and he's going to die, he just knows he's going to…

'Draco? You awake?'

Draco takes a sharp breath and goes still. Blinking, he takes stock of his surroundings. Four poster bed, dark green curtains, a carving of an eagle owl drifting in lazy circles above his head.

His dorm bed. He's in his fucking dorm bed.

Belatedly he realises he should have answered by now. 'I am now,' he growls. 'What do you want?'

'Er, nothing,' comes the voice—Greg, he thinks—from just outside his curtains. 'Just…sounded like you were having a nightmare.'

'Well I wasn't,' Draco snaps. 'In fact, I was having a rather good dream, which you so rudely interrupted.'

'Oh, er, sorry,' Greg says dumbly. 'Was just trying to help.'

There's a vague snort from the other side of the room, and then Theo mutters, 'I told you not to bother.'

Greg mumbles something in return and someone chuckles. Blaise. Great. So they're all awake, and they've all heard Draco thrashing about like an idiot.

He scowls, and yanks on his sheets. The same sheets that are twisted tight around his middle, pinning him to the bed. He sits up, running a hand through his damp hair. His shirt is soaked through with sweat and his scowl deepens. He casts a quick drying spell, followed swiftly by a cleansing spell, but it's not enough to get rid of the nightmare still clinging to his skin.

Left over adrenaline surges through his muscles and Draco flops back in the bed, feeling restless, but listening to his dorm mates.

There's several minutes of shuffling and creaking as they resettle back into their beds. Draco sighs and flicks his wand at the owl above his head, sending it spiralling in alternate directions to keep himself occupied. Unfortunately, watching a wooden toy circle his head isn't as scintillating entertainment as it sounds and Draco's thoughts are wandering by the third turn of the little bird.

He keeps his mind firmly away from the nightmare, and with that out of the picture all that's left to think about is, as is usual, Potter.

Potter, who, as usual, has ruined _everything_. He always does, doesn't he? From refusing Draco's hand of friendship (not that Draco dwelt on that fact or anything), to quidditch, to hippogriff attacks, and secret armies and hidden clubs that no Slytherin had been privileged enough to be included in. Potter has, as far as Draco was aware, been hell bent on proving Draco to be some evil doer of some kind.

That is, until he'd had the gall to go and save Draco's miserable life.

Draco scowls and makes a particularly spiteful jab at the flying owl, sending it careening off into his curtains.

With a sigh he reaches out to pick up the little owl carving and set it carefully on his bedside table. Deciding that he'd rather bear his housemates curious glances than risk sitting alone thinking about Potter and his irritating habit of defying expectations for even a single second longer, Draco swings his legs over the edge of his bed and pulls open the curtains.

For a moment he thinks they've all gone back to sleep, and he's going to successfully sneak out of there without anyone noticing.

Then, just as he's reached out to pull the dorm door open, Blaise calls out from behind him,

'Try not to loose us anymore house points, yeah?'

Draco's hand tightens on the door nob and he has to force himself not to react.

Somewhere to his left, Theo snorts, 'Since when have you cared about house points?'

He sounds distracted, though, and Draco assumes that he's reading (probably hasn't even been to sleep yet, knowing him). Rolling his eyes, Draco ignores them and slips out of the dorm.

The nearest prefects bathroom is only a short walk away, and he slips into the room with barely a sound, his pattering footsteps echoing softly in the quiet of the halls.

The floor is cool against his bare feet, and he hurries to the showers, stripping off his clothes and ducking under the already steaming water with relish.

Warmth radiates along his shoulders, the water pressure working away at the tension in his shoulders and the dried sweat still clinging to his skin.

That is, until the sound of soft bells alerts him to someone walking down the corridor outside. Scowling, Draco flicks off the taps, thankful that he'd at least had the presence of mind to lay a warning charm outside the door, and waits for whatever teacher it is to pass on by.

Only they don't.

The door creaks open and someone shuffles into the bathroom, making no effort at discretion. Unless he thinks soft humming is subtle.

Draco rolls his eyes, irritation curling around his spine as he tries to remember where the bloody hell he put his towel and whether or not he can summon it without this interloper noticing.

Except, he realises with a scowl, his wand is lying on the bench beneath his clothes and no matter how proficient he's become at wandless and wordless magic, performing both simultaneously isn't in Draco skillset.

The humming breaks off and Draco's stomach flip flops when the interloper starts muttering to himself and he realises just who it is who has stumbled upon him.

'Whoops, someone's missing their clothes.'

Draco closes his eyes, trying not to sigh. He'd come here to get _away_ from thoughts of Potter, not get stuck starkers in a shower stall while the blithering idiot talked to himself.

Reminding himself that he's a _Malfoy_ for fucks sake, and he doesn't hide from idiot Gryffindor's (who should know better than to go skulking around the castle in the middle of the damn night) Draco pokes his head out of the shower to see that, yes, it _is_ Potter. Of course it is. When _isn't_ Potter getting in Draco's hair these days?

'Just what do you think you're doing?'

He tries not to smirk when Potter about jumps out of his skin at the sound of Draco's voice. Really, he does, but he can't help it. Somehow getting the drop on Potter never stops being satisfying.

'Jesus Christ!' Potter gasps, eyes bulging as he spots Draco. ' _Malfoy_? What're you doing here? Are-are you _naked_?'

'Why no, Potter. I thought I'd take a shower fully dressed, I hear it's the in thing at the moment. Of course I'm fucking naked you idiot. Now, kindly stop poking around through my clothes so I can finish my shower.'

'I—sorry.' Potter's voice cracks, pitching unnaturally high, and he let's go of Draco's clothes like they're on fire, dropping them all over the floor.

Draco raises one eyebrow, glaring and Potter—turning a rather amusing shade of bright pink, hastily ducks down to pick them up and place them back on the bench. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, eyes flashing over to Draco and away again, cheeks so red Draco's surprised they don't melt right off him.

Draco's smirk widens. So, Potter is a prude?

Not that there's anything to be prudish about, Draco is well concealed behind the curtain. He gives Potter one last warning glare and yanks the curtain shut again, restarting the water.

'Er…you're just gonna…okay.' Potter's voice is squeaky and breathless.

'Do you plan on lurking out there all night?' Draco asks, ducking under the hot shower and relishing in the warmth (even if his enjoyment is somewhat marred by the fact that Potter is standing less than ten feet away). 'Stop standing around like an idiot and pick a shower. It's not like this is the only one.'

'Er…right…'

There's some shuffling, the distinct rustle of clothes dropping to the floor, and light footsteps as Potter heads to one of the stalls at the other end of the bathroom. Draco snorts.

'Merlin Potter, you act like you've never showered around other people before.'

The other shower starts up. 'Erm. I haven't.'

Draco sweeps water off his face and stares at the wall between him and Potter. 'Bullshit,' says Draco. 'You're telling me you've gone your whole Hogwarts career without running into someone in the showers?'

'Um, yeah?'

Draco pauses. 'What, do you shower at midnight every night or something?'

'No,' says Potter. 'I just wait until everyone else is done.'

'Every night?'

'Yeah.'

'Why?'

Silence meets this question, and for a moment Draco thinks Potter's not going to answer.

'I guess I just don't like feeling so exposed,' Potter mutters, his voice barely audible above the running water.

'Do you feel exposed now?' Draco half thinks he means to tease Potter, but instead it comes out curious, with none of the usual sting.

There's another pause, and Draco has to strain his ears to hear the answer and when he does he's not quite sure what to do with the it.

'Yes,' comes the quiet response, almost blending in with the rushing water.

'Well,' he says, opting for casual indifference. 'Rest assured Potter, you needn't feel _exposed_ any longer because I'm done.'

He flicks off the water, runs his hands through his hair to rid it of the extra droplets and steps out of the shower, his gaze flickering sideways to be sure Potter is still in his cubicle. Not that he has a problem being "exposed" as Potter put it. In fact, Draco has always been quite comfortable with his body. But the fresh scars on his arms are still red and angry—making an ugly mess of the black blob on his left forearm that used to be a tattoo. Potter's seen it before, of course, but Draco has no desire to remind him of it.

An odd silence falls over the room as Draco dresses. The rustle of his clothing is oddly loud, even with the other shower still running. Draco can't help but glance toward the closed curtain where he can just make out Potter's shadow on the other side.

The water shuts off. Draco pulls on his shirt, turning away so as not to cause Potter any anxiety (although the temptation to stand on the other side of the curtain and tease the Gryffindor is hard to resist).

The curtain slides back as Draco is shrinking his clothes and pocketing them. Potter shuffles over to the benches, a towel wrapped around his waist and head ducked (and here Draco thought Gryffindor's were supposed to be _brave_ ), leaving puddles of footprints across the floor.

The low light of the bathroom flickers, catching over a trailing scar on Potter's back as he bends to grab his shirt, and Draco blinks. Flashes of memory try to swarm at the edges of Draco's mind. Memory and nightmares mixed together.

Potter's shoulders are tense, as if he can sense Draco's thoughts. Draco grits his teeth and turns away, reminding himself furiously that he's _not thinking about that_.

He runs his towel over his hair, trying to scrub away the thoughts. Apparently Potter has the same idea, because Draco can't see any other logical reason to explain why the bloody hell he'd bring up the very subject they'd been so successfully ignoring.

'So, um, wereyouflirtingwithme?'

Draco peers over the edge of his towel at Potter, raising an eyebrow. 'Excuse me?'

Somehow the boy has managed to scramble into his clothing in the brief moment Draco had the towel over his face, and he stands facing Draco, clutching his clothes to his chest as he stares at Draco with those infuriatingly expressive eyes that are currently stuck somewhere between stubbornness and mortification.

'Erm,' Potter says, his adams apple bobbing, and he runs a hand through his hair (almost dropping a sock into the puddles at his feet). 'I said, uh, did you, um, did you flirt with-with me. At the Halloween party?'

Draco blinks. Sighs. Glances away and back again. Decides that if they're going to do this, they might as well do it properly.

'Of course I was flirting with you,' he says. 'You kissed me.'

Red swarms up Potter's neck, flooding his face to the tips of his ears. 'Erm,' he says, and swallows. 'So…so does that…'

Draco pulls his towel away from his face and smirks at Potter. 'I was messing with you,' he says. 'What, you think this is a thing, do you?' He gestures between them, his tone clearly indicating that Potter was delusional.

The strange glint of hope in Potter's eyes shatters, and he drops his gaze to the floor. Draco's stomach clenches, his throat going dry, but he shakes it off. He's a _Malfoy_. And Malfoy's don't succumb to the puppy dog eyes of Gryffindors. Especially not _this_ Gryffindor.

Draco tilts his head. 'How about we just make this easy and pretend the other night never happened.' After all, that's what he'd _thought_ they were doing.

Potter, still staring at the floor, shrugs. 'Sure,' he says, and sighs. 'Why not.'

Draco frowns. 'I'm throwing you a life-line here, Potter. Maybe be a bit more grateful?'

'Grateful?' Potter's gaze snaps to his face.

Ah, _there's_ the familiar Gryffindor fire.

'Alright, maybe I kissed you,' Potter says, 'but _you_ flirted with _me_ all night at the Halloween party. You made me think…'

'Made you think what?' asks Draco, though he knows the answer.

Potter scowls. 'Forget it,' he snaps. 'You really are a prick.'

He storms for the door but Draco catches his arm, holding him fast.

'Wait,' he says. 'Are you saying this is something you want?'

The anger in Potter's eyes shutters and he looks lost. 'I…I'm not sure,' he admits and shrugs.

Draco frowns. 'Helpful,' he says, and rolls his eyes. 'What do you expect me to do if even _you_ —Mr-Everybody-Deserves-A-Second-Chance has doubts.'

'That's not what I said.'

'No?' says Draco, and steps closer, deliberately pushing into Potter's personal space. 'So you have some weird, misguided crush on me because I saved your life. So what? You saved my life, I saved yours, we're square. You don't need to fawn over me, I'm quite content with how things were.'

Potter frowns. 'If you were then why did you flirt with me?'

Draco rolls his eyes. 'Why not? Look, you're so easy to rile up it almost isn't any fun. But that's all it was, okay? And if it wasn't all it was, what exactly do you expect to happen? We fool around and maybe we have some fun, sure, but what happens when things have to end? What then? Then I get crucified and you go back to hating my guts. Thanks, but I think I'll pass.'

Potter frowns, stepping away from Draco, but this time his gaze stays on Draco's face. 'Who says it'll have to end.'

Draco snorts. 'Please,' he says. 'If you don't realise that's inevitable than you're even more naive than I thought.'

Potter doesn't say anything.

Draco sighs and shakes his head. 'See you in class,' he mutters, and pushes past Potter. He pauses in the doorway and glances back. 'Don't take it personally, Potter. It's just that you're you, and I'm me. You'll see. Tomorrow you'll wake up and remember all the reasons you despise me.'

Potter's hair drips into his face and his eyes, so green and bright without his glasses on, are innocently wide, fixated on Draco. 'Maybe,' he says, his voice soft. 'But I don't think those reasons matter anymore.'

'Because I saved your life?' Draco asks, he means it to sound mocking, but his voice has lost it's edge.

Potter shakes his head. 'No,' he says. 'Because you're…more.'

Draco frowns. Something squirms in his gut and his heart starts to thump painfully in his chest. He turns away, not wanting Potter to see him so unnerved, and leaves Potter and his stupid knowing gaze behind in the bathroom. Still, he can't escape it. Potter's words follow him out into the corridor, back to his dorms and into his dreams, plaguing him worse than any nightmare.

 _'_ _Because you're more_.'

And when he gets up the next morning, having barely slept a wink, Draco realises just how royally screwed he is.

* * *

 **A/N:** Well...we all knew Draco was going to be stubborn about this, right?

Hope you enjoyed finally getting an insight into our Slytherin Prince - though, I'm not totally satisfied with the way it came out, hope you guys enjoyed it anyways.

Also, **please note** that I'll be dropping down to once weekly updates as of Monday for the duration of April - just until camp NaNoWriMo is done - then I'll pick back up to twice a week come May.


	18. On the Wings of Horses

Chapter Eighteen

 _On the Wings of Horses_

 ** _Hagrid:_**

Two thestrals stand at the edge of the clearing, tearing into a hunk of meat. The flock is growing and Hagrid is proud to show them off to the students, but he's missing the usual glow of warmth that comes with showing off these misunderstood creatures to his students.

Oh, he's used to the disgusted and disturbed looks that come from watching the thestrals eat. Many of his students aren't able to see the invisible creatures. The hunks of meat being pulled off and eaten, disappearin' as the Thestrals ate, was a bit offputtin' to some of his students. Still, this is normal.

He heaves a long sigh, and doesn't even bother to try and encourage the students to get closer. His mind is on his next class. His two reluctant sixth years.

Two months. Two months to get over the disappointment that _none_ of the sixths years chose to take his class this year.

Of course, it weren't the first time that were the case. Not a single sixth or seventh year class has come through since Hagrid began teaching. Still, he had thought this year would be different.

After all, this year _Harry_ is a sixth year. And yes, _now_ Harry is in his class, and yet Harry didn't _choose_ to take Care of Magical Creatures. Hagrid knows that Harry didn't mean to offend him. He knows that Harry wants to become an Auror, and that perhaps Magical Creatures don't rank high on the comings and goings of Aurors. Yet, he can't stop the disappointment from creeping into his thoughts.

'The foals are starting to look quite lively now, aren't they?'

The voice comes from somewhere 'round his elbow, and Hagrid has to shuffle back a pace to see the wee little thing standing at his side. He beams when he sees those familiar blue eyes gazing up at him.

'That they are,' he says. 'Yer no' goin' fer a closer look today Luna?'

'Oh, I will,' she says, looking up at him. 'I didn't want to crowd them.'

Hagrid glances back at the other students, still hanging back from the disappearing meat, and chuckles. 'No fear o' that I think.'

'Oh I don't know, there's more interest this week I think.'

'Yer think?'

'Oh yes,' says Luna, peering up at him. 'After all, there are far less wrackspurts hanging around lately. I think people are starting to see things much clearer now.'

Hagrid frowns and scratches at his beard. 'Wrackspurts? Don' know that I've ever had an infestation o' them out here.'

Granted, he's never _heard_ of them before, either. But Luna is a sweet girl. She reminds Hagrid of many of the lost and wandering creatures he's found under his care. Like baby Norbert or Fang or Fluffy. Lost, misunderstood creatures in need of care.

'Oh, they've been everywhere in the castle,' she says. 'But I wouldn't worry. They're definitely on the move now.'

'Ah, I see,' says Hagrid, though he really doesn't. 'Good ter know.'

'Do you think the heard will migrate this year?'

Hagrid rubs at his beard again. 'Mebbe, hard teh say though, they been 'ere so long now. They're not used teh flyin' out fer the season.'

Luna nods. 'Pity,' she says. 'They did so enjoy our long flight last year. They were ever so helpful.'

Hagrid gives her a hearty smile. 'O' course they did. Natural fliers they are. S'pose they _should_ be migratin'. I'll have ter look into it.'

'Maybe Draco can offer some insights?'

'Malfoy?'

'Yes. His family sometimes breeds winged horses. He has two, I think. What were they? Abraxan?'

'Abraxan are powerful horses,' says Hagrid, impressed that the young Mr Malfoy could manage such horses.

Especially after that great mess with Buckbeak.

'Quite beautiful, if Draco has anything to say about it,' she says.

'You, er, talked to him abou' it then?'

'Oh yes,' says Luna. 'Draco is quite knowledgable about many magical creatures. He likes to pretend that it's because he's good at potions, though I know the truth.'

'Yer do?'

She leans in, smiling. 'He's curious,' she says. ' _Very_ curious. I think he and Harry have that in common, though you shouldn't tell either of _them_ that. Trust me, I've tried. They are so stubborn, another quality they share. Anyway, he likes to tease Harry about not knowing as much'

Hagrid frowns. 'Harry's always gotten good marks in my class,' he says. 'Better than Malfoy, anyway.'

'Well yes. But then Harry's never been to a magical Zoo before,' says Luna. 'He was raised by muggles after all. Draco's teased him relentlessly about it, I'm afraid. He is right, though, it really is a pity. I still remember going with my mother. It was always my favourite holiday, we would go and-oh dear, is class over already?'

Luna peered about her, blinking as she watched her classmates all scuttle off toward the castle. Hagrid, too, looked about him.

'Oh,' he says, calling out to the class as he remembers that he's supposed to assign homework. 'Er, I expect an essay from each of you on how Thestrals are misunderstood by next lesson.'

A few grumbles echo out, but for the moment there's not much resistance. One student even calls out, 'how long?'

'Oh, er, 6 inches should do it, eh?'

Two voices break through the mutterings, loud and arguing.

'—danger to society no matter what you say.'

'Oh please, like Professor Lupin wasn't the _best_ Defence teacher we've ever had and _he_ was a Werewolf. You can't just lump them all under the same banner.'

' _Best_? Merlin Potter we really need to redefine your notion of higher education if you think _Lupin_ is our best defence teacher.'

'Oh? And I suppose you think Lockhart did a good job? Or stuttering Quirrel who we could barely understand? Or maybe you preferred Umbridge, I mean, you did get rather cosy with her.'

'It might surprise you to know, Scarhead, but you weren't the only one that disliked that frilly, scrumpy, pink-pampered, stupid toad of a—'

'Hello Draco,' says Luna, stepping out in front of the boy.

Malfoy jumps and swears. Disapproval swarms in Hagrid's gut like angry bees, but before he can step in, Malfoy surprises him by actually smiling.

'Lovegood,' he says, and flicks a smug look across at Harry. 'Kindly remind Potter who is the superior student here?'

Harry rolls his eyes. 'You know what, forget it,' he snaps. 'Sorry Luna,' he adds, before stomping passed them toward the Thestrals.

Hagrid watches Malfoy and Luna a moment longer before turning his attention to Harry. Somethings eaten away at him, Hagrid knows.

A few of the Thestral foals canter over (drawn to Harry's easy nature, Hagrid is sure) and nudge at Harry's hands. Harry pats them absentmindedly and Hagrid marvels at how easily the boy is accepted into their fold. He recalls how quickly harry had earned Buckbeaks trust and thinks it really is a pity that they don't have more winged horses on the grounds.

Perhaps he should speak to Professor Dumbledore about getting some foals?

'Goodbye Hagrid,' calls Luna, waving as she sets off to follow her fellow year mates back up to the castle. 'Thank you for interesting conversation.'

Hagrid smiles and waves after her but has to pause mid-wave as he's hit with a sudden idea.

He turns, looking back at Harry and Malfoy, one patting invisible winged horses and the other watching with far less hostility than Hagrid has come to expect.

A lot has changed this year, he knows. He's seen it. Harry and Malfoy don't act like the squabbling pups of crups anymore, but rather regard each other with wary watchfulness. Malfoy himself, even, has been less troublesome than usual, though neither have seemed to give Hagrid the full enthusiasm he had hoped for.

Perhaps that would change, however, if he gave them something to look forward to? Something one of them, at least, has never done before.

Hagrid smiles, claps his hands together, and says. 'Alrigh' then, I have a treat for yeh.'

* * *

 **A/N:** Busy day tomorrow so this is the posting for the first week of April. Sorry it doesn't give us much Harry/Draco time, but rest assured in about three chapters time there's gonna be a nice long chapter filled with much awkward fluffiness.


	19. Did You Say Mum?

Chapter Ninteen

 _Did You Say Mum?_

 ** _McGonagall:_**

Potter trails behind her with that beseeching look on his face that is both pleading and stubborn. The pleading expression is all James Potter, from the messy hair right down to the little quirk of his lips, but the stubbornness shinning out of those green eyes is all Lily Evans.

Anyone who thought Harry took after his father was a fool. Oh Albus, Sirius, and Remus—and indeed anyone who _knew_ James Potter, took one look at his son and called them the same; but Minerva knew better.

She saw the way his jaw clenched when he was frustrated; or the way he chewed on the inside of his mouth when he was confused about classwork or puzzling out some problem or another. She saw the quizzical lift of his brow when he was being sardonic, heard the sharp wryness of his words when he was being sarcastic or impertinent, and the cheekiness that shone from his gaze when he watched his two friends bicker—no doubt thinking of all the ways to tease them, but not going through with it as his father would have done.

No, Minerva did not see James Potter when she looked at Harry. She saw his mother, Lily Evans.

Lily Evans who stared out from the depths of his eyes at her, stubborn and wilful and headstrong, with a heart bigger than any other.

'Please?' he said, jogging to keep pace with her brisk walk as she stalked away from her offices.

He's incessant begging had distracted her and now, for the first time in over thirty years, she was late. She abhorred being late.

With a weary sigh, she attempted to ignore him.

' _Please_?' he said again, just behind her shoulder 'Please sign the form.'

She turned the corner, quickening her stride. 'I've already told you, no.'

'But—'

'Potter,' she snaps, turning to face him in a swift movement. 'The headmaster has already given you his answer. As have I.'

'Yeah, but—'

'Now, we are late,' she says sharply, cutting him off again. 'I suggest you go inside and take your seat.'

She yanks open the door she knows he hasn't realised they're standing outside of and strides through. Potter follows, though he doesn't go to his seat like she'd told him to. She sighs, and tries to resist the temptation to rub her temples.

Several students look up from their none-too-quiet conversations to stare, surprise and curiosity on their faces—and it's plane as day _why_ they're curious. She's not the only one who realises that she's never been late to class before. She crosses to her desk, ignoring Potter as he trails her, and flicks her wand at the board. Instructions for the lesson weave themselves across the surface, but Potter is still stubbornly at her back.

She turns. 'Take out your books and continue where we left off,' she says. 'Mr Potter—'

'I'll do all my homework before we go,' he says quickly, cutting her off. 'For all my classes. Even the stuff that's not due yet. And I'll pull extra detention. And clean the Infirmary. _And_ help Slughorn rearrange the potions rooms. And…and…' he's grasping at straws. 'Just _please_ can't I go?'

'For Merlin's sake Potter, I've _already_ told you it's not up to me,' she sighs, now fully exasperated with his refusal to give up the point.

'Okay but you can at least _talk_ to him, right? I mean, he'll listen to you.'

'And what do you expect me to tell him, Potter? Out of school excursions require signing off by guardians, I'm sorry, but that's just the way it is.'

'But you _know_ my Aunt and Uncle won't sign it, even _if_ they got the letter on time, which they won't. So why can't _you_ just sign it?'

'I don't have the authority.'

'You're my head of house!'

'Yes, but as I've explained _several times now_ , I'm _not_ your guardian—'

'You might as well be!' Potter exclaims, cutting her off in sudden burst and his expression is so frustrated and imploring and stubborn, so _Lily_ that Minerva is momentarily stunned. 'You look after me better than my own relatives do and anyway, you and Pomfrey are basically like my parents at this point, so I don't see _why_ there's such a big issue! Can't you just _tell him_ to let me go? '

'Potter,' she says and then doesn't know what to follow with.

She's…stunned, actually. Does he realise what he's implied? She knows, of course, that the rest of the class has. Several students are muttering, exchanging amused and speculative whispers that aren't quite as quiet as they think they are.

'Get to work,' she barks at them, voice cracking like a whip as she flicks a practiced reprimanding glare around the room.

Potter blinks and glances over his shoulder, only just seeming to realise where they are. Several students scramble for their books, though they all keep one eye on the two of them at the front of the room. She ignores them and raises an eyebrow at Potter, motioning toward his empty seat. He doesn't move. His jaw has that familiar set to it and Minerva feels a headache coming on. She close her eyes and sink into her chair. Instead, she takes a deep breathe and tries a different tact.

'It's not just your lack of guardian approval,' she says to Potter. 'There are a dozen other perfectly good reasons that you shouldn't go.'

He scoffs. 'Please. If you mean my _issues_ , Pomfrey's already given me her approval. I'll have an extra potion in the morning and I'll be right for the day. It's all sorted.'

He says this in a smug tone, clearly thinking he's brushed aside her concerns and Minerva makes a mental note to remind Poppy to run any of Potter's foolish plans by her _before_ she approves them.

'You know that isn't the _only_ issue,' she sighs. 'Though I'd certainly like to know how you managed to wheedle approval for this little excursion out of Poppy. I highly doubt she'd approve.'

'Actually she said it'd be good for me,' he says and she half thinks he's going to poke his tongue out at her.

Minerva sighs again and rubs a hand over her temple—which is starting to pulse.

'Come on, _please_? If anyone can change his mind, it's you. Tell him what Pomfrey said, that it'll be good for me. Tell him…tell him he can sick whatever bodyguard he wants on us!'

'I thought you said it was creepy to have a sixteen year old followed?' she asks dryly.

Potter groans and runs a hand through his hair. 'Well it is! But I won't complain if that's what it takes! _Please_? It's one day. Just _one day_ for me to be a normal teenager and I swear I won't ask for anything else but please, _please_ let me go.'

He stares at her with his mother's eyes, his mother's face, imploring and hopeful and oh so young and she feels her resolve weakening. He sees it. She sees him see it.

'Potter,' she says again, and stops, because how can she tell him that he isn't allowed to be a normal teenager.

'You _know_ it's what Padfoot would have wanted,' he says and though she hears the slyness to his tone, understands it for the underhanded blow that it is, it _works_.

She clenches her jaw, sighs, and finally relents. 'I suppose I could talk to the headmaster,' she says reluctantly. His face lights up, but she cuts him off sharply before he can say anything more. 'But _no_ promises! And you'll sit down this instant and not say _another word_.'

Potter nods emphatically, green eyes bright and wide with barely contained excitement. He beams at her with his mother's smile and bounds over to his seat, practically glowing with barely restrained happiness. He slips into his seat next to a bemused Draco Malfoy and yanks out his book, completely missing the stares he's receiving from his classmates.

Without missing a beat, Malfoy leans over and says in a mildly amused tone that the whole room can hear, 'You realise you basically just called McGonagall your mother?'

Minerva freezes for a moment as all eyes fix on Potter. By the time they swivel to her, however, she's composed herself by pulling a stack of paper's toward her to grade. That doesn't stop her from hearing Potter's response though.

'I don't even care,' Potter says with a grin that could split his face in two. 'We're going to the _zoo!_ '

Malfoy snorts. 'Idiot.'

There's no malice in his voice, and Minerva glances up to observe them for a moment. Potter is still grinning, flicking through his book, eyes glazed and unseeing in his happiness; and Malfoy is watching him, a small smile playing across his mouth. Minerva raises an eyebrow. Perhaps having them spend more time together wouldn't be a bad thing after all.

* * *

Pomona finishes her report, Minerva jotting down the few requests she'd made for plant materials, and Albus

Albus leans back in his seat, smiling a genial smile as he was wont to do. 'I believe that concludes the staff meeting?' he says, popping yet another of those ridiculous candies into his mouth.

Minerva restrains herself from rolling her eyes and sits up a little straighter. 'Actually,' she says, ignoring the sigh from Severus (who was readying himself to make his escape no doubt). 'I'd like to discuss the matter of the Zoo Excursion.'

There are several looks of confusion around the table, but Hagrid (who had just about been asleep) sits up straighter all of a sudden.

Albus feigns puzzlement, his expression only a _little_ forced. 'I thought we already had?' he says. 'After all, Harry needs his guardians to sign—'

'Yes,' says Minerva, cutting him off. 'I've been meaning to talk to you about that. I was wondering, have you contacted Petunia and Vernon about Harry's extracurricular classes?'

There are a few more curious looks from around the room, but Minerva ignores them in favour of staring hard at Albus. She's watching his face, waiting to catch the slightest move in his expression.

'Of course,' he says.

She purses her lips, and she knows he sees that she knows he's lying. 'What about his class schedule? You told me not to bother alerting them, but I contacted the Malfoy's and got _their_ approval. Did I not need Potter's?'

'Well, something so minor—'

'As minor as rearranging his entire class schedule for his second last year of schooling?'

'Well, it's not like the changes disrupt him _too_ much—'

'Sixth years need parental permission to do Care of Magical Creatures due to the high contact with dangerous magical creatures,' Minerva says tartly. 'Do we not need their permission for _that_?'

Albus stays silent for a moment. 'You seem to have a point, Minerva?'

'Yes,' she says. 'I do. You seem perfectly happy to choose and pick which details of Potter's schooling Potter's relatives need to know about. Not that I blame you, mind. They're the most _deplorable_ sort of muggles. I just wonder why you're pushing the point on _this_ detail.'

'The Zoo can be a dangerous place.'

Severus snorts. 'And Hogwarts can't be?'

There's a few titters around the table.

'We _have_ had an unusual amount of trouble of late,' says Flitwick. 'Only to be expected in these hard times. Though mixing young people with highly concentrated magic has always resulted in the odd disaster here and there.'

'It won' be no trouble, Headmaster,' says Hagrid, dark eyes hopeful. 'I've been givin' it a lot of though' see? Got it all planned out, so as not to bring any unwanted attention to 'em. Harry'll wear a disguise, and Malfoy can colour his hair for the day, an' we'll say we're from one of them smaller schools. Tha' way there'll be no trouble.'

'There you have it,' says Minerva, pleasantly surprised by Hagrid's plan.

She'll admit, she hadn't really been paying attention the first time it was brought up, knowing that Albus would say no, but Hagrid really had put some thought into how to go about it. Not just for Harry, too, but for Malfoy. She was impressed.

Albus, though, was not.

'Last we spoke you agreed with me,' he says, eyeing Minerva.

'I've reconsidered,' she says primly.

Severus rolls his eyes. 'You mean Potter came begging and you caved, as usual.'

'I did no such thing!'

'Really? Because it's all my Slytherin's can seem to talk about this afternoon,' he says.

Minerva has a strong urge to send a stinging hex his way.

'I think the excursion will do them some good,' says Poppy. 'Potter could certainly use a break from the stress.'

Once again, Severus is all derision. 'Oh please.'

'If you recall,' Minerva snaps. 'Potter's been attacked several times of late. Not to mention the fact that his _godfather_ died just a few months ago.'

Severus has the decency to look ashamed. 'Yes, well, he's not the only one suffering from this war. There are plenty of other students who have lost family. Are you going to send each of _them_ off to the Zoo.'

'That depends,' says Minerva. 'Are any of them taking Sixth Year Care of Magical Creatures?'

Severus rolls his eyes but disdains to answer.

'Rest assured, Severus,' says Poppy, shooting him a sharp look. 'I've been monitoring _all_ students with direct ties to the war very closely this year and conferring with their heads of house. Perhaps you haven't realised as _your_ students haven't been quite as affected. Excepting Mr Malfoy, of course.'

Severus startles at this. At first his eyes flash angry and dark when Poppy points ou the fact about his students being less afflicted, but when she excludes Malfoy confusion—followed quickly by worry that he can't quite squash—replaces the anger.

Minerva raises her eyebrows. She hadn't heard of anything going on with Malfoy, but then apparently neither has Severus.

Poppy turns to Albus. 'An excursion will do them _both_ some good. I think it's a great idea. They can get out of school for a day.'

'Be normal teenagers,' agrees Minerva. 'That's what Potter said,' and here she shoots Albus a significant look. 'That it'll be one of his last chances to be a normal teenager.'

Guilt flashes across Albus's face and she knows she has him. Even Severus looks mildly uncomfortable.

'Perhaps if someone can go along with them?' suggests Poppy, seeing Albus's obvious reluctance to agree. 'Will that ease your mind?'

Albus doesn't look appeased, but seems to realise he's loosing the battle. Minerva has learnt to read the subtleties of his expressions, to note when the benevolence is an act and when he truly knows something others do not. In this instance, Minerva is almost sure that there's something bothering him he doesn't want them to know about. She frowns.

Unfortunately, Severus distracts her. 'Surely even _Hagrid_ can manage two students on his own?' sneers Severus.

Minerva purses her lips. Across from her, Poppy is looking suddenly dubious.

'It _is_ Potter and Malfoy,' says Pomona cautiously. 'I know they've been getting on _lately_ , and they've never caused problems in my class of course, but they _do_ have a history.'

'If the right person _agreed_ ,' Albus says, still with that tiny frown he's trying to hide. He glances hopefully at Severus, but Minerva jumps in before he can ask.

'No,' she says. 'It cannot be Severus or me. Picking one head of house over the other will just make the other boy feel outnumbered; and besides, most of us teachers are too busy to go chaperoning an excursion like this for a full day. Not with NEWTS coming up.'

Hagrid deflates. 'So's I guess it's off then?'

'Of course not,' says Minerva briskly. 'I said none of _us_ can do it, but we are not the only options.'

Hagrid frowns in puzzlement. 'Ain't we?'

'Of course not,' says Minerva. 'The only question is _who_. Who is capable of dealing with the complexities of Malfoy and Potter's past?'

Severus snorts and rolls his eyes, exasperated by the entire notion of sending someone to (no doubt in his mind) pander to two teenage boys. Minerva ignores him.

'What about Remus?' Pomona suggests, brightening. 'He had such a way with Harry that year he taught here, didn't he?'

'We want someone that will work with _both_ of them,' says Severus with a scowl. 'Not someone who will allow Potter to run amok in an unguarded situation.'

'Well then there's always Alastair,' Minerva says dryly.

'Busy with the Auror's, I'm afraid,' says Albus, obviously pleased that another option is out the window.

'It can't be Molly or Arthur,' murmurs Poppy, eyes distant as she thinks. 'Not with Draco going. Perhaps old Kettleburn? Though he _is_ retired.'

'I suppose I could shuffle my classes around for a _day_ ,' Charity says, flicking through her schedule. 'If I could shift the second years, and the afternoon class for the sixth years…'

'While I appreciate the thought, Charity,' says Minerva with a small frown, frustrated at their lack of options. 'I do agree that we shouldn't make too much of a fuss about it. There's no sense in us all rearranging our schedules to make it work.'

'Well thank Merlin for that,' says Severus sarcastically.

Minerva shoots him a glare.

'I don't mind,' Charity insists. 'I don't want them to miss out, after all. It's a great opportunity. And, and I agree. From what I've seen they both seem to be improving. Albiet slowly, and sometimes you have to trick them into it, but they _are_ getting on. It'd be nice to reward them for it.'

'Reward them for doing what they should have been doing all along?' asks Severus as if they've all lost their minds.

'Now, now, Severus,' says Albus. 'You of all people should know how hard it can be to break out of old rivalries. What they've achieved this year is admirable, and I'll admit they should be rewarded, but perhaps we should think of an alternative to the Zoo—'

'Nymphadora Tonks,' says Minerva, cutting off Albus with the first name she can think of before he dismisses the idea entirely.

'Nymphadora Tonks?' asks Severus in disbelief. 'You want to send two of the most volatile students we have, into a volatile, _magical_ zoo with the clumsiest Auror known to Wizarding History? Why don't you just ask the Weasley twins and be done with it?'

'Because they're busy running a shop,' Minerva retorts sharply. 'Nymphadora is more capable than you give her credit for. She has the perfect disposition to deal with any tension between them; not to mention the fact that she and Malfoy are cousins. Yes, I think Nymphadora will do nicely. What do you think?'

Albus looks trapped and Minerva's smile widens, like she's just eaten a full packet of Canary Creams. He tries not to sigh, but Minerva sees his shoulders sag just a little.

'Yes,' he says (with only a _hint_ of resignation). 'Nymphadora Tonks is a _very_ good choice.'

He says it in such a way that Minerva is positive he'd already thought of her, and was hoping none of them would. She resists the urge to hex him, and instead focuses on the fact that she's been victorious. She exchanges a smile with Poppy and Charity, and enjoys the creeping satisfaction that comes from seeing Severus so put out.

'Excellent,' says Minerva. 'I'll let Potter know he can go then.'

'So long as they don't cause any trouble before then, of course,' Albus adds.

Minerva raises an eyebrow. She suspects he's rather hoping they do.

'Well, that shouldn't be too hard,' says Poppy. 'After all, how much trouble can they get into in two days?'

* * *

 **A/N:** This turned out to be a lot longer than I thought it would, and I apologise because there's barely any fluffiness going on. So just for being so patient with me, here's a quick sneak peak at the next chapter (and no, sorry, it's not the Zoo chapter just yet - though I can't WAIT to share that with you):

Chapter 20 Sneak Peak:

 _Confidant_

 _ **Ginny:**_

Hermione purses her lips. 'Harry…' she sighs. 'What about the Zoo tomorrow? You know that was conditional on you and Malfoy getting along.'

'We are! Sort of. Look I didn't start the fight it just…happened,' he sighs and runs a hand through his hair, wincing as his hand brushes passed a cut above his eye. 'Can we do this later? I just…I really need to talk to Ginny right now.'

There's an odd flush to his skin beneath the bruising on his face, and Harry's desperation is growing. He looks at Ginny, gaze imploring and understanding washes over her.

She pushes up off Dean's lap. ' _Again?_ ' she asks, just to be sure, and tries to squash the delight surging up her spine as she realises what's happened.

' _Yes_ ,' he says pointedly. 'Now can we talk? _Somewhere else_?'


	20. Confidant

Chapter Twenty-One

 _Confidant_

 ** _Ginny:_**

'You're brother is staring,' Dean mutters, pulling away from her lips just long enough to get the words out.

'Ignore him,' say Ginny, leaning back in to press her lips firmly back against his. 'It's what I do.'

Dean smirks. 'Yeah, but,' he says between kisses. 'I feel like he might murder me in my sleep.'

She pulls back and shoots him a wide grin. 'Well,' she says. 'We better get in as much snogging as we can, then?'

He laughs and she bridges the gap between them. In the background she can hear some sort of commotion, and assumes that one of the younger years has set of another explosion. Or Seamus, she supposes.

'Oi,' Ron calls out. 'What happened to you?'

For a moment Ginny thinks he's calling out to _her_ , and she's getting ready to flick a Bat Boogey hex his way to remind him to mind his own damn business, when she hears Harry's low voice mumble something in response.

Not a moment later a shadow falls over her and Dean.

'Ginny?' says Harry, 'Can I talk to you?'

'Right now?' she asks, before glancing up at him and gaping. 'Jesus, what happened to your face?'

He's completely disheveled. His shirt is loose, the top two buttons torn away, and a smear of blood on the collar above his askew tie; which is nothing to the fresh black eye and swelling bruise on his jaw.

'What?' Harry asks, and then shakes his head as he realises the state he's in (the fact that he didn't even notice speaks _volumes_ ). 'Oh, that. Never mind. Look, can we talk? Please?'

He says it urgently and Ginny's curiosity and worry intermingle into something heavy and unpleasant in her stomach. Suddenly she's not much in the mood for kissing.

'What's wrong?' Hermione asks from where she and Ron are hovering over his shoulder, (not that Ginny blames them when he's come in looking as he is). 'Who did you fight with?'

Harry shifts his weight and glances at Hermione. Impatience flashes in his eyes, and something else. Something rather like desperation. A desperation Ginny recognises.

'Nothing,' he says. 'Just…got in a fight.'

'Yeah, we see that,' says Ron. 'With who? Wasn't Malfoy was it? Hope you gave the git as good as you got.'

Harry winces and runs a hand through his hair. 'Er, yeah. Malfoy,' he says, and makes a face at Ginny. 'Can we go now?'

'Wait, you fought with _Malfoy_? I thought you were done with this? What happened?'

Harry taps his foot nervously and avoids looking at her. 'Nothing,' he says. 'I just…it's like Ron said. Malfoy and I got into a fight. It's nothing.'

Ginny frowns, confused at the different signals he's sending. On the one hand he's just been in a fight with Malfoy, on the other, he's looking at her the same way he had when she found he'd kissed Malfoy.

Ginny straightens. No, he _hadn't_ said he'd fought Malfoy, he said he and Malfoy got into a fight.

Hermione purses her lips. 'Harry…' she sighs. 'What about the Zoo tomorrow? You know that was conditional on you and Malfoy getting along.'

'We are! Sort of. Look we didn't start the fight it just…happened,' he sighs and runs a hand through his hair, wincing when his hand brushes passed a cut above his eye. 'Can we do this later? I just…I really need to talk to Ginny right now.'

There's an odd flush to his skin beneath the bruising on his face, and Harry's desperation is growing. He looks at Ginny, gaze imploring and understanding washes over her.

She pushes up off Dean's lap. ' _Again?_ ' she asks, just to be sure, and tries to squash the delight surging up her spine as she realises what's happened.

' _Yes_ ,' he says pointedly. 'Now can we talk? _Somewhere else_?'

If Ginny was a girl like Lavender Brown she might squeal in delight. Hell, she might anyway, but Hermione is watching with that keen, narrowed gaze, so Ginny schools her expression and nods.

'Why d'you wanna talk to her?' asks Ron, nonplussed, as if he can't understand why Harry might want to talk about anything other than Harry's supposed fight with Malfoy.

Instead of answering, Harry grabs Ginny's arm and all but drags her to the staircase.

'Oi!' Dean objects. 'That's my girlfriend, Potter!'

'I'll give her back in a minute!' Harry snaps over his shoulder, the tension rolling off him in waves.

He pulls Ginny up the staircase and shoves into the boys dorm. Neville—sitting on the floor with a few odd looking plants Ginny hasn't seen before—startles.

'Neville,' says Harry, eyes wide. 'Erm, mind if I use the dorm for a bit? I need to talk to Gin. Alone.'

Neville blinks. 'Er, sure.'

Ginny throws him an apologetic look as he gathers up his things and packs them carefully into his trunk. She notices that it's been expanded on the inside, and that the plants he's placing neatly back into place aren't the only ones in there.

'Thanks,' she says, realising that Harry isn't going to, and makes a note to talk to him about _manners_.

Honestly, just because—

'He kissed me,' Harry blurts the minute the door is closed, clearly unable to hold it in any longer.

Ginny stares at him. Inside she's dancing, but for now, there's a wild, freaked out storm of emotions playing out across Harry's face, so she takes a deep breath, sits him down on the edge of his bed and stands calmly before him.

'He kissed you?' she asks. 'Malfoy?'

He gives her a look and she shrugs, holding her hands up in self defence.

'Just wanted to be sure,' she says, then ventures. 'So, are you together then?'

Harry swallows. 'I…no. I don't know!' he scrubs a hand through his hair and drops his head. 'I'm so confused.'

Ginny sits down next to him. 'Why don't you tell me what happened?'

'I…we…I just went for a walk. I couldn't sleep, see. So I went for a walk. Like I always do. And then he was there, and they were chasing him. Beating him up!' his fists clench. 'Fucking assholes,' Harry says. 'It was four on one! How is _that_ fair? Anyway, I joined in and we scared them off pretty quick.'

It all starts to make sense. Harry hadn't been in a fight _against_ Malfoy, he'd been a fight _with_ him against someone else. Several someones, apparently.

'I'm guessing that's when he kissed you?' Ginny asks when Harry doesn't continue.

He nods, glancing sideways at her. He sighs and runs his hands through his hair again.

'I guess we were kinda flirting? Maybe? But then he, he kissed me and I don't know _why_? I mean he's the one who said that this wouldn't work!'

'Wait, back up,' she says, shaking her head. 'When did he say this?'

Harry grimaces. 'Few days ago,' he mumbles. 'I ran into him…well it doesn't matter where. But he pretty much told me it wasn't going to happen. That we should just pretend I hadn't kissed him.'

He sounds so bitter, so confused and upset that Ginny just wants to hug him, but she knows he'd just pull away if she tried and she doesn't want to upset him any further.

'But now he's kissed you,' she says, summarising. 'And you're understandably confused. Did he say anything?'

'No,' he says miserably. 'I tried to ask him, but he just told me to shut up. Then he kissed me again.'

He blushes, and Ginny can see the faint hint of pleasure lurking beneath the confusion.

'You liked it,' she says, and nudges him.

The flush of red deepens, and he ducks his head. Grinning, she pokes him in the ribs.

'You liiiiiiked it,' she says, dragging out the words and laughing when he tries to pull away from her poking fingers.

'Stop it,' he says, but he's smiling an embarrassed little smile.

'Alright,' she relents, holding up her hands.

They sit for a moment in silence. Harry shifts closer to her, their shoulders pressing just close enough to draw comfort, but not enough for Harry to be leaning on her.

'What should I do?' he asks, staring at the floor.

She sighs. 'Honestly?' she says. 'I'm not sure. There's not really time to talk to him tonight, and tomorrow you're going to the Zoo.'

He groans. 'God, don't remind me. Him and me and Hagrid for a whole day. I can't think of anything worse.'

She chuckles. 'Well, just think of it as your first date.'

'Date?' he asks, mortified.

She shrugs. 'Look, the way I figure it, _he_ kissed you. That kinda voids his little "it's not going to happen" speech, right? Obviously he likes you, otherwise he'd have just kept flirting with you to mess with you. The fact that he told you it was a bad idea means that he _must_ have feelings for you. And you have feelings for him, right?'

Harry shrugs. 'I guess.'

'Harry Potter,' says Ginny in her best imitation of her mother's voice. 'I suggest you get real certain, because it's going to be hard enough getting Draco Malfoy, of all people, to agree to go out with you based on the fact that you _might_ have feelings for him.'

Harry flushes. 'Right, er. Yeah.'

She raises an eyebrow.

Harry drops his gaze and kicks at the floor with the toe of his shoe. 'I have feelings for him,' he mumbles in a soft voice.

'At any rate you seem to enjoy kissing him,' Ginny teases.

Harry groans and covers his face again, leaning on his elbows. Ginny laughs and shoves at his shoulder.

'Okay,' she says, getting more comfortable on the bed. 'So tell me about the fight. And the kissing.'

He glances up at her and she waggles her eyebrows.

'I already told you,' he says, glancing away, still redder then a ripe tomato.

She scoffs. 'Yeah, cliff notes version,' she snaps her fingers at him. 'I want details, man. Details.'

He blanches. 'Details?' he asks weakly.

She nods. 'Come on, you're gonna have to get better at this stuff, being gay and all.'

'Didn't know acting like a girl was a condition of being gay,' he mumbles, rolling his eyes.

She laughs and smacks him with a pillow. 'It's not,' she says. 'But seeing as you're my only gay friend, and I'm the only one you've told about this, I figure I should get something out of it, right?'

He stares at her. 'And, what you want is details?'

'Exactly,' she says, and grins. 'So, tell me what happened.'

* * *

 **A/N:** So...what exactly happened? You'll have to wait til next chapter to find out ;)

Then the Zoo is after that! Hurray!


	21. Distracted

**A/N:** Okay you get an extra this week because I got excited by all the fluffiness. More to come next chapter with a full day at the Zoo (likely to be a long chapter!)

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Two

 _Distracted_

 ** _Harry:_**

Harry is distracted. There are many good reasons for Harry to be distracted—the events of the summer, the endless stream of stares and whispers, and the unexpected (and unwanted) change to his class schedule—and yet all he can seem to think about are the dreams.

They torment him. Plaguing his sleep and his waking thoughts with whispers and yearnings, driving him to distraction. So much so that Hermione has to ask him a question three times before he realises she's talking to him.

'Sorry, what?' he asks, blinking and trying to focus.

She sighs at him. 'Nothing,' she says, shaking her head. 'What's wrong with you tonight?'

'Nothing,' he says, slouching down in his seat and dropping his gaze. 'Can't sleep.'

The irritation vanishes from her face and she offers him a sympathetic smile. 'Nightmares?' she asks softly.

A wry smile twists Harry's lips. 'Uh, yeah, something like that. Look, I'm gonna go for a walk, okay?'

She nods. 'Remember you've got your zoo excursion tomorrow, so don't stay up too late.'

At least she knows better than to bother reminding him about curfew.

He gives her a wave and trudges out the portrait hole.

The corridors are dark and quiet. _Too_ quiet. His mind starts to wander. Flashes of skin, hot breath, the smell of lemons and honey, and a warmth that pools in Harry's insides. He shakes his head, tries to clear himself of the thoughts.

The pent up frustration is driving him mad, and he wanders around the castle, barely paying attention to where he's going and wishing desperately that the quidditch season had started already.

At least then he'd have an outlet for all the nervous energy keeping him awake at night. He runs a hand through his hair, and instantly his mind flashes back to one of the dreams. Soft caresses and touches and Harry groans, scrubbing at his face.

'What the hell is wrong with you?' he mutters into his hands, for the hundredth or so time.

Truth is, he knows _exactly_ what's—

Two boys crash around the corner, landing at Harry's feet in a tangle of flying limbs and grunts of pain, scaring the absolute shit out of him. His heart pounds and it takes a moment for his vision to clear—flashes of a different kind assault him. Red and grey and a rubble strewn street obscuring his vision.

A grunt of pain breaks through the momentary panic, and Harry focus's just in time to see Malfoy get punched in the face.

'Hey!' Harry yells.

The boy, a Ravanclaw, looks up in surprise. Malfoy shoves the boy hard, his palms slamming into his chest and sending him tumbling backwards. Malfoy scrambles backwards and to his feet just as three more Ravenclaw's round the corner to join the first.

'Get back here Malfoy you slimy snake!'.

Malfoy watches them, cool eyes narrow and hard. 'Come on then,' he growls at the Ravenclaws.

Harry takes a step forward. 'What the hell is going on?' he asks.

For a moment there's quiet, the six of them standing off. The four Ravenclaws, Draco to one side—the wall at his back, and Harry watching them. The boys seem to waver at the sight of Harry.

'Stay out of this, Potter,' Malfoy growls, and swipes blood away from the split in his lip.

Obviously deciding that Harry isn't a threat, the leader of the Ravenclaws steps forward. 'You're gonna pay for last year, Malfoy.'

Malfoy's muscles tense, and Harry makes to grab him a second too late. Malfoy launches himself at the Ravenclaws, slamming into the group and sending two of them sprawling. Somehow he stays on his feet and takes a swing at a third.

The fourth boy grabs him from behind, pinning his arms, and the lead boy is back on his feet and hits Malfoy hard in the gut, but before he can take a second swing Harry is there, catching his arm and twisting it back.

The boy cries out, spinning to face Harry and trying to get his arm free. Harry clamps down and punches him in the face. Hard.

'Fuck,' he swears, shaking out his hand.

He turns, takes a single step toward the boy who has Malfoy pinned, and is shoved forward. He cops a fist the side of his head and sees stars. He swings blindly, his glasses coming askew, and blinks hard. His fist connects with something solid, and a grunt of pain echoes next to his ears. A body bumps into his and there's a low growl as Harry is pulled backwards. Air moves in front of his face and Harry has the distinct impression he's just avoided a punch to the face.

Malfoy's voice barks a spell next to his head, and suddenly Harry can see again, his glasses back in place. He's pulled out of the way, again by the back of his robes, as one of the Ravenclaw's launches at them. Malfoy sticks out a foot, tripping the boy and Harry has to admire the quick way he's back on his feet.

They're surrounded. Malfoy lets go of Harry's robes and Harry swings around at the same time as Malfoy. Warmth presses against Harry's back and they stand there, back to back and panting. There's a pause in the fight and Harry takes the respite to catch his breath.

'You really wanna keep going?' he asks the two guys facing him.

A sneer flashes across one's face, but the other one has noticed Harry's wand (now grasped firmly in Harry's hand, though pointed at the floor—for now) and reaches out to stop his friend from pushing forward. Behind Harry, Draco already has his wand out, and Harry can see the thoughts flash across the Ravenclaws face.

These boys were fourth, maybe fifth years. Harry and Malfoy were both older, stronger, and more experienced. Particularly when it came to magic fights.

'You've made a big mistake, Potter.'

'I'm just evening the score a little,' Harry bites back. 'Four on one, little unfair don't you think?'

'Tch,' the boy scoffs, but he's still eyeing off Harry's wand. 'Whatever, let's go.'

The boys storm off back the way they came, and Harry turns around to eye off Draco.

'Making friends?'

Draco rolls his eyes, tucking his wand back up his sleeve. He flicks Harry a scowl.

'I told you to stay out of it.'

Harry shrugs. 'Like I said, just evening the score.'

Draco raises a brow and then winces. Along with the split lip, he has a cut across his brow and the start of a black eye. Harry leans forward to inspect it, frowning.

'Looks like it hurts,' he says sympathetically.

Draco goes still, his gaze—fixed on Harry's—is completely unreadable. His breath washes over Harry's face and Harry's throat tightens as he realises how close they are. His breath catches and he tries desperately to think of anything except his dreams.

He swallows and takes a step backwards. 'Sorry,' he says, but it comes out kind of croaky and he drops his gaze.

'S'alright,' Draco mutters. 'Thanks, I guess.'

Harry glances back up again, and offers a nervous grin. 'Guess we make a good team after all,' he says.

A small smirk lifts Malfoy's lips. Harry's expecting some half-smart retort about how Malfoy makes everyone better…but it doesn't come. Instead, his eyes drop to Harry's jaw and he frowns.

The adrenaline that was starting to fade kicks back up a notch, and Harry's heart thuds painfully in his chest as Malfoy reaches up and brushes a finger across the bruise that's already starting to form on Harry's jaw.

'Looks like it hurts,' he says, repeating Harry.

He drops his hand, grey eyes flicking back up to Harry's face. He's close again, closer than Harry had been before, and Harry has to concentrate on breathing.

'Yeah,' he says. Whispers. 'I…' he licks his lips and tries again. 'Could've been worse…if you hadn't…'

He's not sure what exactly he's trying to say, only that he's having trouble focusing on anything except Malfoy's lips.

Malfoy blinks, and a strange look crosses his face. Part realisation, wariness, anticipation and, yes, wanting; and god, now Harry really can't breathe.

The soft kiss, pressed lightly to the corner of Harry's mouth, next to the bruise, breaks what little self control Harry has. He pushes back, grabbing at Draco's shoulders and holding him in place before he can pull away, his own kiss hot, and fierce and desperate.

Malfoy doesn't pull away. Doesn't shove Harry back. Doesn't try to punch him. His fingers dig in at Harry's waist and his response is every bit as fiery.

'I thought,' Harry gasps pulling back just long enough to ask the question nagging at the back of his mind. 'That you didn't approve of my "silly little crush".'

Malfoy growls, and it vibrates through Harry's lips. 'I don't,' he says and kisses him. Hard.

'Little contradictory, don't you think?'

Malfoy pulls back to give Harry a pointed glare. 'Potter,' he says, 'shut up.'

They stumble into the wall, and Harry grins and happily complies. Malfoy is a strange mixture of soft and fierce, trailing light kisses across Harry's bruising jaw, before coming back to Harry's mouth and snogging him soundly.

Whatever they're doing—there'll be time to think about it later, _after_ they've come to their senses—is over entirely too soon in Harry's opinion, as the kisses, the strong hands clasped around his waist, and the comfortable warmth spreading between them is all yanked away.

Harry is left gasping and off balance and completely alone as Draco Malfoy disappears down the corridor. Confusion sullies the moment, and Harry is left with nothing but the pooling want at the base of his spine and a lot more new material for his dreams.

He runs a hand through his hair and leans his head back against the wall. 'Fuck,' he says.

Hermione's words come back to him. _'Remember you've got your zoo excursion tomorrow, so don't stay up too late.'_

'Fuck,' he says again and closes his eyes.

How the hell is going to keep his cool around Malfoy for an entire day now?


	22. The Zoo, Part One: Dragons and T-Shirts

**A/N:** Yes, okay, so I fell off the side of the Earth for a little bit. I've no excuse, life just got crazy for a bit.

Anyways, I'm back and determined to finish this. This story is by no means over - I plan to go all the way through to the end of 7th year and considering 6th year has 46 chapters so far and isn't even finished...that's still a lot of story to cover.

For now, though, the long awaited Zoo trip! Or, at least half of it (It ended up being way bigger than I'd planned, and this section alone is almost 5,000 words with at least another couple thousand to come in part two).

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Three Part One

 _Dragons and T-Shirts_

 ** _Tonks:_**

If there's anything about her job that Tonks dislikes, it's having to deal with crowds. Not because of any particular dislike of people—in actuality she rather enjoys people—but more so because there are so many opportunities for her to fall on her arse. Add in a magical zoo (Scamander Emporium no less) and Tonks would be happy if she made it through the day with only minimal embarrassment.

Not to mention putting Potter in the mix. The boy attracted trouble no matter where he went. Sending him into the midst of some of the more dangerous (and, yes okay Newt, _misunderstood_ ) magical creatures was a recipe for disaster she was sure.

She stands waiting just beyond the ticketing booth—a small rectangular booth posing as a coffee shed—watching the crowds for Hagrid's tell tale height, and frowns when she sees no sign of them. It's a little after nine, and they were supposed to be here over ten minutes ago.

Figuring that it's _Potter_ and she's seen what the boy's punctuality is like first hand, she resolves to wait and watch a little longer. Next to the booth are two red telephone booths just inside the Notice-Me-Not perimeter, preventing any muggles from attempting to use them. Or see the people frequently coming _out_ but infrequently going _in_.

Eager crowds shuffle by her. The line beyond the ticket booth is loose and orderly, curving around the bend and onto the street, people standing patiently in groups as they chat about the day ahead.

Muggles trudge on by the line, barely paying attention to the oddly dressed groups. Some are in muggle gear, other's steadfastly refuse to remove their outer robes.

With tickets in hand, Zoo-goers bound passed the coffee hut and through the small gate leading into a nondescript looking park that—to any Muggle—might look like a nice place to drink a coffee.

Casting a quick tempus, Tonks is just debating whether or not to send a patronus to Kingsley asking where the hell they've gotten to when she sees Hagrid's bulk push his way out of one of the small telephone booths. Relief fills her and, after a quick check of metamorphmagus disguise, steps back into the side of the building to watch them.

Two students step out from behind Hagrid. They almost look like brothers. Both are sandy haired, brown eyed and adorned in Hufflepuff colours. Still, whoever did the spellwork on their glamours didn't do focus too hard on changing their faces, other than hiding Potter's scar.

The one on the right glances about with Potter's curious expression on his face. Malfoy's disinterested on glares at Hagrid's back and mutters something under his breath. Potter glances sideways at him, a small grin quirking his lips until Malfoy catches him looking and then Potter's gaze snaps away.

Malfoy frowns, his shoulders stiffening as Potter focuses his attention on anything but the boy beside him.

They step into the line (dwindling now that the gates have been opened for some time) and, with a quick swish of her wand, Tonks can hear the (rather limited) conversation.

'It's not really as exciting as I thought it'd be,' says Potter, looking around again.

Malfoy snorts, casting Potter a sideways glance. 'It's the outside of a zoo, what did you expect?'

Potter shrugs. 'I dunno. Just…more, I guess.'

Both boys tense at that, and Potter ducks his head, running a hand nervously through his hair. Malfoy rolls his eyes.

'Of course,' says Malfoy. ' _More_. I should've guessed.'

Potter flushes. 'I…that's not…I just meant that I thought there'd be more signs and stuff.'

Hagrid, taking notice of the conversation behind him, turns slightly to explain with a chuckle. 'Can' have signs up 'ere, 'Arry. It's London. I reckon them muggles'd get a fright if they knew what was in 'ere.'

'Oh, I didn't…I mean,' he glances around, frowns at the scattered muggles walking passed. 'I didn't realise we were in Muggle London.' He blushes again, and adds, 'probably something I should've noticed.'

Malfoy snorts and shoots Potter another sideways look. 'Do you _ever_ pay attention.'

Potter crosses his arms. 'Yes,' he says

'S'alright 'Arry,' says Hagrid cheerfully. 'Anyone coulda made that mistake.'

Malfoy rolls his eyes and mutters something about pandering that Tonks can't quite hear. As Hagrid steps up to the ticket booth he turns to Potter and says,

'Don't worry, Potter, you want more? Just you wait til we step through that gate.'

Potter glances at the small, low, innocent looking fence and the parklands beyond with a dubious expression. Malfoy sees it and smirks but doesn't say anything to further his point.

He just watches. Hagrid steps away from the booth, three tickets in his hand, and gestures the boys to follow. They do, and Tonks peels away from the wall and falls into step several metres behind them. Malfoy is fixated on Potter, watching expectantly as they step through the gate.

Potter casts Malfoy one last doubtful look, shakes his head and follows Hagrid through the small gate and the thin, imperceptible layer of magic shielding the Zoo from the prying eyes of Muggles.

Tonks follows, but has to stop just inside the boundary of the gate when Potter freezes. His jaw drops and he comes to an abrupt standstill, gaping at the world he's just stepped into.

A huge shimmering dome stretches high above them in an arc. Heards of flying horses swoop overhead, braying and calling out to one another as they glide gracefully once, twice above the entrance square before disappearing over the tops of a line of trees.

The trees themselves are ancient and enormous, reaching up toward the peak of the dome and blocking out most the light. Their branches are adorned with hundreds of floating lanterns, each coloured with a different coloured light, casting a multicoloured glow on the ground below.

Little creatures dance in the light, flitting in and out of the shadows faster than the eye can follow. Tonks can just make out the vivid plumage of several Fwoopers in amongst the branches.

On the other side of the square a young (from it's size) Antipodean Opaleye lets loose a fiery, scarlet flamed roar in greeting, startling several groups of patrons.

Tonks grinned, turning to admire the beast. It's iridescent, pearl scales glitter under the ambient light the dome casts.

'So how about it, Potter?' Malfoy says, and Tonks shifts her attention back to the trio. 'Is _this_ more like what you expected?'

Malfoy is grinning as he talks, watching Potter who is twisting his head back and forth, unable to decide where to look first and too overwhelmed to take it all in.

'This,' Potter says. 'this is…fucking _awesome_!'

Malfoy laughs, and Tonks is surprised by the genial nature of it. As if the boy—who Tonks has been led to believe doesn't get on well with Potter—is enjoying Potter's obvious excitement.

Potter looks up at Hagrid, who is beaming down at the pair, clearly enjoying watching them soak up the experience.

'Can we go look closer at the dragon?' he asks.

Hagrid nods and gestures toward the young, iridescent dragon. 'Tha's why we're 'ere, ain't we.'

Potter grins, grabs Malfoy by the arm and starts toward the beast (that is at least double his size even if it is just a baby) without a hint of trepidation.

Tonks knows that he's faced dragons before (twice, if the stories are correct) and yet she still can't help but admire the way he charges forward, eyes gleaming as he drags his rather more anxious looking companion.

'Merlin Potter, you can't just go storming up to a bloody _dragon_!'

'S'alright,' says Hagrid, following diligently behind the two boys. 'This 'ere is Pod, he's harmless. Jus' a wee baby Antipodean Opaleye. They're from New Zealand. Not very big fer a dragon, and fairly mild tempered, they are. Pod's a good boy. Keeper might even let you pat 'im if you ask.'

Malfoy's eyes bulge out of his head and he pulls back on Potter's grip on his arm. 'There is no way I'm patting a dragon!'

'Don't be such a baby,' says Potter, glancing back at Malfoy with bright eyes and a wild grin. 'You heard Hagrid, he's harmless.'

Tonks almost laughs at the expression of mingled disbelief, pleasure and wariness warring over the Dragon Keeper's face at Potter's announcement. As the trio stop just shy of the (still huge) baby dragon, the Keeper settles on satisfaction, obviously pleased to have people admire his charge.

'Ello Archie,' says Hagrid, stepping around the boys to beam at the young Keeper.

The Keeper grins. 'Hello Hagrid, how are you?'

Potter—who had been gazing up into Pod's opal eyed gaze—leans around Malfoy to look between Hagrid and the Keeper. 'Do you two know each other?' he asks.

Malfoy rolls his eyes and groans. 'Merlin's balls you are such a Gryffindor. They just greeted each other by name. _Obviously_ they know each other.'

Potter crosses his arms and shoots Malfoy a glare. 'No need to be nasty about it, I was just asking,' he scowls.

Hagrid chuckles, as if this is perfectly normal behaviour. 'This 'ere is Archie, he did his training with Charlie a few years back.'

'Charlie?' asks Potter. 'You mean Charlie Weasley?'

'You know him?' asks Archie, surprise raising his eyebrows.

'Yeah, I'm friends with his brother,' says Potter.

Archie frowns and looks Potter and Malfoy up and down. 'All the Weasley's are in that red house aren't they? The one with the lion.'

'Er, yeah,' says Potter, wincing. 'But we're in the same year, so classes and what not. Did you not go to Hogwarts?'

Archie shakes his head.

''E's a Bauxbaton boy,' says Hagrid, shooting Archie a small smile. 'Pity, coulda made a great addition to Hogwarts.'

'So Charlie's always saying,' says Archie with a smile.

'One o' the best Keeper's around,' says Hagrid, turning to look seriously at Potter and Malfoy. 'Good head on 'im. Good Voice. You should pay attention to Keeper's like 'im. Lot you could learn.'

'Voice?' asks Malfoy. 'I didn't know you had to sing to be a Dragon Keeper.'

Archie grins and shares a look with Hagrid.

'Ah, no,' says Hagrid. 'It's just what we say when we're talking about Keeper's who can communicate with a Dragon. Or, I guess communicate isn't the righ' word. It's more o' a sixth sense.'

'Like a horse whisperer,' says Potter and Hagrid beams.

'Exactly.'

Malfoy frowns. 'What the hell is a horse whisperer?'

Potter stares at him and shakes his head. 'If you don't know, I've no idea how to explain it to you.' Then he turns to Archie and gestures at Pod. 'Hagrid said he was only a baby, how old is he?'

'About five,' says Archie, and points to the ridge of Pod's spine, just below his neck. 'See that small nub there just before his neck. That's how you can tell. The thicker it is, the older they are.'

Potter's eyes go wide, and he leans up on his tip-toes to get a better look. Pod, as if sensing the attention, shakes his head, snorts, and lowers himself a little—offering Potter a better vantage point. Potter, grinning widely, takes a step closer.

Malfoy grabs at his arm, trying to pull him back, but Potter just throws him a sly smile and takes another half step.

'Why is he here?' asks Malfoy. 'I thought the Zoo didn't have a permit for Dragons?'

'Most breeds are too large to have any here in central London; but Pod is fairly small in size, even at his age. If we left him with his clutch he probably wouldn't survive, so we made special arrangements to have him live here. Now he's sort of the unofficial mascot for Scamander Emporium.'

'Just how Newt woulda wanted it,' says Hagrid, smiling over at Pod with an appreciative gleam in his eye.

Archie nods in agreement.

Potter, still staring at Pod, asks, 'Can I touch him?'

Archie chuckles. 'I thought the yellow house was supposed to be for the meek ones? I think maybe he's in the wrong house,' he says this to Hagrid.

Hagrid laughs a little, but it's a nervous laugh. Tonks braces herself, ready to intervene if she has to (though, she really doesn't want to go sending confundus charms at Dragon Keeper's).

'Sorry chap,' says Archie, turning to Potter. 'Best not to get too familiar with Pod. He doesn't much like it.'

Potter's shoulders droop, but he doesn't back away. He stares up at Pod with those big green eyes and says in a low voice, 'You're amazing, you know that Pod?'

Pod turns his head, swivelling one large, opal eye to fixate on Potter. Potter doesn't flinch. Doesn't move. Doesn't even breath.

Tonks feels her pulse quicken, and she glances sharply at the keeper. The man is watching, curious, but unworried.

Pod tilts his head, a deep rumble vibrating from his chest. Potter grins.

'You're a lot prettier than the other Dragon's I've seen,' he says, still in that low voice. 'Doesn't matter that you're small, you know. I bet that doesn't give you any trouble does it? Being small never stopped me. Just means you gotta fight a little harder.'

Pod blinks once, and then, with deliberate slowness, dips his head low, crouching on his front legs to lower himself to Potter's height. He looks Potter square in the eyes and lets out a soft, humming breath straight into Potter's face, blowing his hair back.

Potter, still gazing at the creature that is at least double his size, carefully raises one hand, palm flat and raised upwards. Archie shifts, taking a step forward, but Potter stops before touching the dragon and Pod is still sitting in that half crouched position, watching the scrawny boy before him with obvious curiosity—intelligence burning behind those bright eyes.

After a tense moment, in which no one moves, Pod drops his snout, brushing it briefly against Potter's palm. Then, in a swift movement, he bounds away and up a nearby tree, ripping giant claw marks into the bark as he scurries up the trunk to disappear into the foliage above.

Potter laughs—loud and cheery—while everyone else (Tonks included) gapes at him.

'Merlin,' says Archie, shaking his head and getting a hold of himself first. 'I've never seen him do that before.'

'Of course,' mutters Malfoy, still staring at Potter in disbelief. 'You're here all of five minutes and you already made friends with a Dragon.'

'They're not so bad,' says Potter, still gazing after Pod. 'He's just shy is all.'

Archie snorts and glances at Hagrid. 'Let me know when he graduates, I know a few people who'd be interested in a tamer with his skill.'

He gives Potter another appraising look, shakes his head, and turns to walk off to the tree—no doubt to try and coax his charge back down out of the tree.

'Tamer?' Potter asks, shifting to look up at his Professor.

Hagrid is beaming, bright and watery eyed. 'Always knew you'd be great with the creatures 'Arry. Ever since Buckbeak. An' I know yer want to be an Auror, but give it a think, will yer? I reckon you'd be a great Dragon Tamer.'

Potter blinks and scratches the back of his neck. 'I'd never really thought about it before, to be honest.'

Malfoy rolls his eyes. 'Of course you haven't. C'mon, let's keep moving before you get anymore job offers.' He shakes his head and mutters something about needing coffee and Potter laughs and follows diligently behind him.

They trail through the various corridor's of the Zoo at an even, wandering pace. Potter takes it all in with a child-like amazement that Tonks hasn't seen before. Normally, when she sees him during the summer, he's broody and frustrated and as much a teenager as she ever saw.

Though, she supposes after several weeks with his family, she can't blame him for that.

Still, it's nice to see this side of the Boy Who Lived.

So far there's been no need for her presence. She knows (from Mcgonagall's letter) that the boys are being passed off as brothers from Hufflepuff, and with their disguises they certainly look the part, but Tonks finds herself increasingly amused by the way they're interacting.

They certainly don't _act_ like brothers. Or even reluctant partners.

There's a tension that hangs between them that is _almost_ what she was told to expect, but she detects an undercurrent of something else.

When they stop outside the erumpent enclosure, Potter leans forward over the rail, shifting sideways into Malfoy's personal space almost without realising. The other boy glances at him, but doesn't shift away. Instead, he leans forward as well, and mutters something to Potter, low and inaudible to Tonks' ears.

Potter laughs, abrupt and loud, startled at whatever joke Malfoy has made. He glances sideways, flushes pink and turns to look back out at the enclosure.

The erumpent trots into view.

Hagrid stands to one side, regaling the boys with a story (accompanied by huge hand gestures that about knock over other surrounding patrons) about the erumpents. Potter watches the creature intently, his head half turned as he listens to Hagrid, but Malfoy is clearly not paying attention. He stands side on, leaning one hip on the rail, watching Potter rather than the creature they've come all this way to see.

Tonks, annoyed at the sudden thickening crowd, shifts closure, trying to hear what they're talking about.

'Luna told us that they've been hunted nearly to extinction,' Potter says and leans his elbows on the rail. 'Is that true?'

'Aye, tha' it is. Real shame. They're beau'iful creatures. Very gentle.'

Potter shakes his head. 'We're no better than Muggles,' he mutters, he sighs and straightens, glancing sideways at Malfoy. 'Guess Luna was right then?'

'She usually is,' says Malfoy dryly. 'Annoying as it is.'

Potter shoots a grin up at Malfoy and the stoic boy offers a small smile in return.

'C'mon,' says Potter, nudging Malfoy with his elbow before stepping away quickly and ducking his head. 'Let's go get some food. I'm half starved.'

Malfoy rolls his eyes, but says with a smile. 'You're always half starved. It's not even lunch.'

'Morning tea then,' says Potter, waving a hand at him. 'C'mon, you can't tell me you aren't dying for a coffee. Besides, Hagrid doesn't mind, do you?'

'Course not,' says Hagrid with a smile. 'There's a cart between here and the next enclosure.'

Potter grins. 'I know,' he says.

Malfoy frowns. 'I thought you've never been here before? How do you know where the food carts are?'

'I checked the map,' says Potter.

'You actually kept that?'

'Of course. I always keep the maps. They're kind of like a souvenir. You didn't keep yours?'

'You do realise that's what the souvenir shop is for, don't you? So you can keep something other than that flimsy bit of paper.'

Potter shrugs, craning his head to look for the coffee cart. 'Yeah, I know. But I was never allowed in the shop. So the map was the only evidence that I'd actually been allowed out of the house.'

Tonks frowns. Her Auror eye flicks over the group. She notes the tension that's built. The unhappy (if unsurprised) frown on Hagrid's face. The bemused crease of Malfoy's brow, the way his shoulder's tense as he takes in Potter's nonchalant words.

Potter, seeming to grow uncomfortable in the relative silence, glances back. 'So, erm, _do_ you want coffee? I think I found the cart.'

After a long moment, in which Malfoy continues to frown at Potter, he finally says, 'Sure. I'll have—'

'A tripple, non-fat machiatto with vanilla,' says Potter, walking backwards toward the cart as he grins at Malfoy, his voice teasing.

'A tripple nonfat what?' Tonks mutters, shaking her head and wondering what the hell happened to plain old coffee.

And why, exactly, has Potter taken the time to memorise the obnoxious coffee order of someone he supposedly hates?

'Hagrid, you want anything?'

'Tea,' says Hagrid, giving Malfoy a bemused look. 'Jus' tea, thanks.'

Malfoy rolls his eyes. 'Oh, leave off would you.'

Potter laughs, turns and joins the line to the cart.

Tonks moves, putting herself between the now split group, leaning against the side of a map of the park and pretending to check the time. As if waiting to meet someone.

'Sir?' says Malfoy after a long moment of silence.

Hagrid—who was watching Potter at the cart—startles and looks down at Malfoy in surprise. As if he's unused to the boy's attention.

'Is that true?'

Hagrid frowns and scratches at his beard. He follows Malfoy's gaze, which is still fixated on Potter, and his expression clears.

'Yer mean abou' 'Arry?'

'Yeah,' he says. 'Did his relatives really not let him go anywhere?'

Hagrid scratches at his beard again. 'Hm. I don't rightly know. Bu', I did meet 'em once. They weren't what you'd call good people.' He glances down at Malfoy and, seeming to realise who he's talking to, clears his throat and says, 'bu' he probably wouldn't want us talking abou' it.'

When Potter comes back with the drinks, Malfoy accepts his with a small smile and a soft 'thanks.'

'I still don't know how you drink that stuff,' says Potter, handing Hagrid his tea but grinning at Malfoy.

Malfoy gives him an inscrutable look, before rolling his eyes. 'As apposed to that?' he asks, gesturing to Potter's cup in disgust. 'Let me guess, black, no sugar?'

Potter grins and takes a sip. 'You forgot extra hot,' he says.

Malfoy smirks. 'No I didn't,' he says.

Something unspoken passes between them and Potter's face goes beet red. He drops his gaze, rubs the back of his neck and looks around.

'So,' he says, and his voice hitches an octave too high. Clearly his throat, he tries again. 'So, what's next?'

Malfoy only grins.

They spend twenty minutes trailing through the winged horse section. Hagrid and Malfoy actually manage to hold a conversation over by the Abraxan heard, while Potter looks on in amusement, idly sipping his coffee and absently petting one of the foals that has come up to him. Neither of the other two notice.

The boys, predictably, spend an inordinate amount of time in the Avery—Potter somehow managing to convince Malfoy into chasing after the Golden Snidget's, not trying to catch them, but each boy trying to outrace the other.

When Hagrid finally drags them out of there it's definitely passed lunchtime, and Tonks—on her last prepared snack of the day—is desperately hoping for a food stop. Or the very least another coffee break.

She heaves a sigh of relief as she exits the Avery a short distance behind them, and sees the group heading toward a food vendor.

Potter and Malfoy stop for more coffee as Hagrid scopes out a spot that will fit them. As the boys are heading back (and Tonks is settling herself into a small table three spots over from Hagrid), five small crups burst from some nearby bushes, snarling and biting at each other, and stampede through the seating area.

'Oi!' yelps Potter, taking a sharp step back as the pups tear through the path in front of him.

He steps back, bumping straight into Malfoy whose fresh cup of coffee is knocked out of his hand and all over the front of his uniform.

' _Fuck_!' Malfoy exclaims, grabbing at his shirt and pulling it away from his skin.

Potter, turning sharply, sees what's happened and goes pale. 'Shit, sorry! I'm sorry—Hang on,' he yanks out his wand and with a flick of his wand (and a flinch from Malfoy) the hot liquid is gone.

Potter, noticing Malfoy's wince, eyes him carefully. 'Are you burnt?' he asks.

Malfoy shrugs, and looks down at his now stained, but no longer burning shirt. 'Don't think so,' he says, voice subdued. He sighs. 'My shirt is ruined.'

'You can fix it, can't you? Here—' he goes to lift his wand again but Malfoy grabs his arm.

'Don't,' he says and throws Potter a shrewd look. 'I'd rather not have anymore experience with your habit of blowing things up by accident.'

Potter flushes. 'That was one time,' he says, glaring. 'I was just trying to help.'

'Well don't,' says Malfoy. 'It's silk. You can't fix it.'

Potter frowns, staring at the shirt. 'I didn't know our uniforms were made of silk. Seems kind of silly, really.'

Malfoy rolls his eyes. 'Of course they aren't. Well, normally anyway. Mother had mine custom made.'

Potter pauses. He shoots Malfoy a quick glance and says, in a rather diplomatic tone of voice, 'Ah.'

Malfoy glares at him. 'Oh, shut up.'

'What? I didn't say anything.'

'No, but you were thinking it,' Malfoy rolls his eyes again. 'Come on, let's go get some food.'

'Hang on a second,' says Potter, grabbing Malfoy's arm. He nods with his head to a group of shops just off from the food vendors. 'I've got an idea.'

Dread fills Malfoy's face, but Potter just grins, tightens his grip and drags the boy off to the shops.

Tonks looks down at the menu in her hands and back up at the boys retreating backs.

'Where're you two off to?' Hagrid calls.

'Back in a minute,' Potter calls over his shoulder, over the top of Malfoy's protesting. 'Just gonna have a look at some souvenir's.'

Tonks sighs. She waves off the girl come to take her order (and attempts to squash her hunger) and heads after them.

She steps into the brightly lit shop and glances around, her eyes assaulted by various toys, shirts and prospective souvenir's—each one claiming to be the very _best_ the emporium has to offer.

'—way in hell am I trying that on,' comes Malfoy's disgruntled voice from the back of the store.

'Oh come on,' says an exasperated Potter. 'What's wrong with it?'

'What's wrong with it? What's _wrong_ with it? Do you have _eyes_? It's hideous!'

'Well, what about this one?'

'No.'

'What about—'

' _No._ '

'God, you're such a girl.'

Tonks shuffles along the aisles, careful to keep her arms firmly by her side whilst also pretending to study the various knick knacks on the shelves—not an easy feat mind you. She spies them in the back corner, looking over the shirts on offer, most of which boasting some claim at having visited Scamander Emporium.

Potter is holding two shirts, one in each hand, while Malfoy—arms crossed and looking decidedly unhappy—glares at him. Potter thrusts them back on the rack and picks up another.

'How about this one then?'

Malfoy sighs and runs a hand through his perfectly neat hair. 'Potter,' he says in a low voice.

Alarmed, Tonks looks around. Thankfully there's no one nearby, but she casts a muffling charm just in case.

'I am not walking around this zoo all day in some stupid shirt that—'

'I'll buy it for you,' says Potter, cutting him off. 'As a gift.'

'A…gift?'

Potter nods. Shrugs. Blushes. 'Come on, be a good sport,' he says. 'I want to get one and it's no fun doing it alone.'

Malfoy frowns at him a moment longer and Tonks is sure he's going to declare is refusal and storm out of there (and then she can finally get some food) but instead he relents.

He glares skywards, sighs, says, ' _Fine_ ,' in a sour and annoyed tone.

Potter's face lights up. 'Really?'

Malfoy glowers at him, but he uncrosses his arms, snatches the shirt and stomps over to the changing room.

He emerges a minute later, fiddling with the shirt collar, and comes to a stop, raising an eyebrow at Potter. 'Well what're you standing around for? Are you going to pick a shirt or what?'

Potter grins and turns to the rack. 'I don't know which one to get. They're all so good. What do you think?'

Malfoy casts a quick cursory glance over the shirts, and points. 'That one.'

Without hesitating, Potter picks it off the rack and darts off to the change room. Malfoy shakes his head. Then he turns his head, leaning up on his tip toes to scan the store. Seeming to find what he's after, he casts a quick look back at the change rooms before setting off toward the centre of the store.

Tonks watches him.

He picks his way through the store toward the counter, pulls out his wallet and pays for the two shirts. Tonks blinks.

Malfoy starts to head back, pauses and turns back to the counter. 'Actually,' Tonks hears him say. 'Could I get a framed copy of the map?'

'The…the zoo map?' the clerk asks doubtfully.

Malfoy just gives him a look.

'Er, yes,' says the clerk. 'I'm sure that's doable.'

'I'd like it now,' says Malfoy, drumming his fingers along the counter, staring at the poor kid that can't be more than a year two older than Malfoy himself.

'Er, right. I mean yes, Sir. I'll get right on it.'

Malfoy nods and heads back over to the change rooms.

Potter emerges, his robes bunched up under one arm and his new shirt proudly on display. Tonks muffles a snort of amusement.

'What d'you think?' he asks.

Malfoy gives him a once over, the corners of his lips lifting into a smirk as he takes in the shirt in all it's glory. 'Yep, that's you alright.'

* * *

So, any ideas on what Harry's shirt says?


	23. Zoo, Part Two: Ice Cream & Parselmouths

Chapter Twenty-Three Part Two

 _Ice-Cream and Parselmouths_

 ** _Tonks:_**

She watches them out of the corner of her eye from three seats over, simultaneously stuffing her face with a double helping of hot chips and a cottage pie, and unashamedly eavesdropping on the two boys across from her.

'You didn't have to pay for the shirts,' says Potter for perhaps the tenth time since their food arrived.

Malfoy rolls his eyes and scrapes his fork across his almost empty plate. 'Yes, well, you were taking too long,' he says, glancing sideways toward Hagrid.

The half giant is standing several feet away, in the same place he'd been when they walked out, talking animatedly with one of the zoo keepers. He'd offered them a quick wave, told them their lunches had been paid for—they just had to pick—and then resumed his conversation and hadn't stopped since.

'I wasn't taking _that_ long,' says Potter. 'And it was my idea. Are you _sure_ you don't want any money?'

'If you ask me that one more time, I'm going to stuff the rest of that burger down your throat until you choke,' says Malfoy in a huff, dropping his fork on the plate and sitting back. 'Merlin, can't you just say "thank you" like a normal person and move on?'

Potter blushes and shrugs, looking down at his half eaten food. 'Thanks,' he says in a quiet, shy voice.

Malfoy, watching him with that increasingly unreadable expression, flushes pink. 'You're welcome,' he says and looks away, over at Hagrid. 'Merlin does that man ever stop talking?'

Potter looks up. 'I heard him mention Fluffy before. He'll be hours yet.'

'Fluffy?'

'His three headed dog,' says Potter nonchalantly.

'He has a _three headed dog_?'

'He did, yeah. You didn't know?'

Tonks muffles a snort and shakes her head. She should be surprised. Really, she should be horrified. But she's not. After all, it _is_ Hagrid.

'I think I need another coffee,' mutters Malfoy, shaking his head.

'You've already had two,' Potter points out, gesturing at the replacement cup in front of him.

It's still half full, if the steam coming off it is any indication.

'So?'

Potter grins and shakes his head. 'You have a problem,' he says softly.

Malfoy throws a chip at him. 'Like you're any better,' he says and eyes off the rest of Potter's burger. 'Are you going to finish that?'

'Probably not.'

Malfoy rolls his eyes again. 'It's no wonder you're so bloody skinny,' he says, but he pulls the plate toward him and starts to pick at the chips.

A shadow falls over them and they both look up into the beaming face of an exuberant Hagrid. 'Alrigh', all done then?' he asks. 'Good. There's a demonstration in the reptile tent, an' if we hurry we can get there before it starts.'

Both boys faces light up in interest. Tonks hurriedly stuffs the last few chips in her mouth, grabs her juice and jumps up—easing into a group of harried looking adults being dragged around by children.

'Say,' says Potter, peering curiously at Malfoy's shopping bag. 'What else did you buy at the store?'

'None of your business,' says Malfoy.

He produces his wand with a flourish and flicks it at the bag. It shrinks and zips into one of his pockets, hidden from view. Potter mutters something Tonks can't hear under his breath—something derogatory from the sounds of it—and Malfoy flicks him in the back of the head.

Instead of retaliating, Potter glances back at Malfoy with a bright grin and races after Hagrid, disappearing into a stone, domed circular building on the edge of the park.

The reptile exhibit is a strange mix of bright and dark. The room, dimly lit, has a faint dusky smell to it and in the brief moment it takes for Tonks eyes to adjust to the subdued light she almost looses sight of Potter and Malfoy. Almost. But there's Hagrid's bulking form, already finding a seat at the edge of the cramped little theatre.

It takes Tonks a moment to find Potter and Malfoy among all the people crammed into the small audience area, forgetting for a moment that the boys are in disguise. She spies them off to the side of Hagrid and finds a place only two seats behind them.

Though the room has obviously been enlarged, it's not enough to hold more than twenty odd people, and even then it's cramped. Obviously they don't get a lot of viewers to the snake exhibit and Tonks can see why.

Hanging below the ceiling, suspended by magic, was the skeleton of what could only be a Basilisk.

People stared up at the thing in varying degrees of discomfort or even fear, though Tonks noted that Potter was one of the few people gazing up at it in awe.

With all the people it'd be impossible to use an eavesdropping spell, and so Tonks digs around in her pocket and withdraws the thin strip of flesh she'd confiscated from Fred and George Weasley earlier that year. She grins, marvelling at their genius. Really, Mad-Eye should consider hiring them to make Auror products.

Putting aside that thought for later, she drops the Extendable Ear on the ground and gives it a quick flick of her wand. It shoots off out of sight beneath the seats. She jams the other end into her ear (offering an easy smile to the disturbed gentleman next to her) and waits.

'—just don't have overly fond memories of Zoos,' comes Potter's voice.

'Thought you were never allowed out of the house,' Malfoy says dryly.

'Couldn't be helped,' says Potter, his voice indifferent. 'My usual babysitter was out of action. They had no choice to bring me. Not that they were pleased about it. Not that I blame them.'

'You don't?' asks Malfoy in disbelief.

'Well…I _did_ accidentally set a Boa on my cousin.'

'How do you accidentally set a snake on someone?'

Potter's voice shifts into amusement. 'I vanished the glass.'

There's a moment of silence and then Malfoy chuckles. 'Ladies and Gentleman, Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Set-Snakes-On-Innocent-People.'

Harry laughs. 'Damn, you discovered my secret!'

Another moment of silence. 'Though, knowing you, your cousin probably deserved it.'

Potter doesn't respond, though there's a rustle of clothing and Tonks has the distinct impression that he's shrugged. Eventually he says, 'that was the first time I ever spoke to a snake.'

'You spoke to it?'

'Yeah, only I didn't realise it was speaking another language.'

'How do you not realise you're hissing?'

Another rustle of clothing. 'It doesn't sound like hissing. It just sounds normal. Like they're speaking english.'

'And you didn't think that was weird?'

'Well yeah, but I was only eleven. Well, almost. Oh hey, it's starting.'

Tonks tunes out the show. She's never been overly interested in magical creatures (aside from watching Charlie Weasley's antics during class) and if she's honest, snakes just creep her out.

Twenty minutes later the show ends. There's a size-changing snake wrapped around the presenter's shoulders that had just demonstrated it's ability to change from a tiny snake capable only of eating a small bug, to a creature huge enough to devour a chicken whole without blinking.

The crowds disburse—rather quickly after that display—but the boys linger. They're still sitting on the little benches, and Tonks notes that they're slightly closer together than necessary, their shoulders pressed together.

Hagrid pushes up to his feet and turns to look at them, smiling even though he has to duck in the low ceilinged room.

Malfoy quickly follows suit, standing up and stepping away from Potter.

'What'd you think?' asks Hagrid, beaming.

'It was great Hagrid,' says Potter, smiling. 'Do you mind if we have a look around a bit? I want to get a closer look at that Ashwinder. She was funny.'

Hagrid hesitates for a moment and then beams. 'O' course, 'Arry.'

Harry grins and nods. Casting Malfoy a quick, almost _wistful_ look, he gets up and heads over to the glass enclosures on the other side of the room.

Tonks, running out of groups to mingle with as people vacate the enclosure, steps back into a nearby wall and casts a disillusion spell on herself. Cold trickles down her spine and she prepares herself to stay immovably still for what could possibly be a long period of time.

Potter glances around the room, eyes trailing over the last group to leave the room. Once the door swings shut, he leans forward over the observation rail and peers into one of the tanks. He opens his mouth, but no words come out, instead a soft whisper of hissing slips through the air.

A second shiver of cold creeps along Tonks skin, raising all the hairs on her arm as she watches.

After a moment, a livid orange head pokes out of the green foliage. Then a second, and then a third.

A runespoor.

They hiss back at Potter. He smiles, languid and relaxed as he engages in a low, whispery conversation with the snake.

Hagrid watches from the middle of the room, sitting back down so he's not half crouched.

On the other side of the room, Malfoy is pretending not to watch. He trails around passed the enclosures, glancing into each one with mild disinterest, but his gaze is drawn each time to Potter and the Roonspoor.

Inevitably, his path leads him to there and he shuffles toward Potter in inches, as if he doesn't want to intrude on the conversation Potter is clearly enjoying but can't help being curious about it.

Tonks doesn't blame him. She's curious too.

Malfoy pauses on the next tank. He leans a hip against the rail and turns to watch Potter, his eyes shifting back and forth between Potter and the snake with more interest than he's shown to the rest of the exhibit and it's only her Auror training (and the thought of what Mad-Eye would do to her if she messed this up over something as stupid as laughing) that keeps Tonks from smiling.

Harry starts to laugh. He leans forward, to continue the conversation, but Malfoy goes stiff all of a sudden. He steps forward and grabs Potter's arm.

Potter glances up, confusion in his face, but Tonks has just seen the keeper step back into the room from the staff entrance. The Occamy is no longer wrapped around his shoulders and he pauses as he sees there are still people in the exhibit.

Tonks breathes a small sigh of relief. If Malfoy hadn't stopped Potter, that keeper would have heard.

'Oh, hello,' he says with a smile. 'Sorry, I wasn't expecting anyone to be here. Usually people clear out pretty quick. Did you have questions?'

'Ah sorry,' says Hagrid, getting to his feet again and almost bumping into the skeleton above his head. 'Didna mean to intrude.'

The keeper waved his hand in dismissal. 'Nonsense,' he says. 'I'm always happy to have people stay a little longer.' He glances over the group. 'You're from Hogwarts aren't you?'

They nod.

The keeper smiles. He hesitates a moment, then asks 'I don't suppose any of you know Harry Potter?'

Malfoy snorts and rolls his eyes, but Tonks sees his grip (that he hasn't yet released) tighten around Potter's arm. A warning, no doubt.

The keeper flushes. 'It's not what you think,' he says hurriedly. 'Just…I've heard he's a parseltongue.'

'Is tha' a problem?' asks Hagrid, his voice unusually gruff.

His huge frame has stiffened and he looks bigger than usual as he stares down at the keeper.

'No! No, no of course not. Actually, I was…er, I was wondering if any of you have seen it?'

'Seen what?' asks Malfoy, releasing Potter and crossing his arms.

'Seen him speak with snakes,' asks the keeper eagerly. 'Oh, I'd give anything to be able to.'

Potter tilts his head. 'Really?'

The keeper smiles. He steps up to the Runespoor tank, where the snake has slithered closer to the glass and was trying to catch Potter's attention.

'These creatures,' says the keeper with a smile. 'They're so misunderstood. People associate them with the dark arts because of creatures like Basilisks but most of them are beautiful and intelligent and well, quite simply wonderful. I'd love to be able to speak to them. To be a voice for them. I thought maybe…when I heard that Harry Potter was a parselmouth, maybe…'

Tonks sees Malfoy's shoulders tense before she sees the expression of wistful hope on Potter's face. She winces and curses internally, silently willing him not to say anything.

After all, her memory charms are a little rusty and she'd rather not have to obligate anyone.

'He thinks they're wonderful too,' says Potter in a soft voice. 'They're smart, and funny, and can love to talk…or, at least that's what I've heard.'

The keeper looks over at him with bright eyes. 'Really?'

Potter nods. 'Yeah. Though he doesn't talk to them much. I think it makes him nervous. Not talking to snakes, but the way other people react.'

The keeper shakes his head. 'I must admit, though I've often wished for the power to converse with my charges, I don't envy the prejudice that comes with it. It's not right the way they're treated.'

'Maybe…maybe you should write to him?' suggests Potter. 'Maybe it'll help him to know that not everyone will think he's dangerous because of something he can't control. Maybe…maybe he can help change people's minds about magical snakes?'

'You think so?' asks the Keeper excitedly. 'Though,' he says with a frown. 'I doubt my letter would get through. He probably gets a tonne of mail.'

'Give it to me,' says Potter, stepping forward. 'I mean, we have some similar classes, I can make sure he gets it.'

'I…really?'

'Er, I'm not sure—'

'Of course,' says Potter, cutting off Hagrid. 'We have to head back to school in another hour or so, but I can come back and get it before we go if you like?'

The keeper blinks, teetering on the edge of excitement and hesitation. Eventually, excitement wins out.

He shakes Potter's hand exuberantly, and Potter laughs awkwardly, obviously embarrassed about the attention.

'Sorry to break this up,' says Malfoy, stepping forward to grab Potter's arm again. 'But like he said, we only have an hour or so left, so we best keep going.'

'Of course, of course. Thank you! Enjoy the rest of the park!'

Malfoy drags Potter to the exit without answering. He's shaking his head, clearly exasperated. Hagrid, with a quick, nervous smile to the Keeper, follows.

Malfoy grumbles the whole way out. 'I can't believe you can fans even when you're pretending _not_ to be you,' he mutters under his breath as they pass Tonks' hiding place.

'Oh shut up,' Potter grumbles. 'I was just trying to help. He's was nice enough.'

'We're supposed to be undercover Potter, honestly, you're _completely_ …'

Their voices trail away and Tonks waits until the Keeper's attention is back on his previous snakes, before cancelling her charm and slipping out of the exhibit.

Outside, Malfoy has dictated a new direction. 'Come on,' he says. 'Let's go get ice-cream.'

Potter looks at him curiously, his feet crunching along the leaves on the path. 'You've just called me every insult known to man, and now you want to get ice-cream?'

'Well, insulting you does work up an appetite.'

Potter chuckles.

'Besides,' says Malfoy. 'You're the one going on about having a "proper" zoo experience. So obviously getting ice-cream is on the list.'

Potter raises his eyebrows, but there's a growing smile on his lips. 'Alright then,' he says and Malfoy starts to nod. 'But I'm paying this time.'

Malfoy blinks. 'That's really not necessary—'

'You paid for the shirts,' says Potter, and though there's a faint flush to his skin, his voice is firm. 'I'm paying for the ice-cream.'

Malfoy raises an eyebrow. 'Alright,' he says. 'Whatever you want.'

Potter grins. 'Careful,' he says slyly. 'I might hold you to that.'

Then he's up and away, bounding off toward the ice-cream cart on the other side of the food court before Malfoy can even blink.

Malfoy snorts. 'Now who's being a flirt?' he mutters.

She suspects, from the unchanged expression on Hagrid's face, that he doesn't hear the comment. He waves he two of them ahead, seeming pleased that they're having such a good time.

Tonks tilts her head. She follows behind them by a few metres, watching as the Slytherin boy trails after Potter toward the ice-cream cart, his posture still that of a young, pureblood born to money and comfort—used to getting everything he wanted. Still, there's not that usual arrogance she's come to associate with pureblooded families.

'Pistachio?' he asks when he reaches Potter at the cart. 'You're not serious?'

Tonks blinks. Pistachio? Guess she has more in common with Potter than she thought, because that was—

'It's not for me,' says Potter. 'I can't stand that flavour. But Tonks likes it.'

She freezes.

Malfoy frowns. 'What the hell is a Tonks?'

Hagrid, now paying attention to what the boys are talking about, glances around nervously. 'Erm, not sure yer s'posed to mention tha' 'Arry,' he says.

Potter shrugs. 'Not like it'll make her less effective to hang out with us. Besides, it's got to be boring as hell watching us all day.'

Realising the game is up, Tonks steps up behind them. 'Wotcher, Harry,' she says with a smile, automatically changing her hair colour into something far more vibrant than the dull, unnoticeable brown it's been all day.

Malfoy jumps and swears, sidestepping to get away from her. 'What the hell?'

Potter grins and nods at her. 'Hey Tonks.'

She tilts her head. 'You're getting better,' she says. 'What gave me away?'

Potter shrugs, shoving his hands into his pockets. 'Nothing really.'

'It was the food court wasn't it?'

Potter grins at her. 'You're probably the only person I know who can eat that much food and not pass out.'

She shakes her head. 'Rookie mistake. I don't know what I was thinking.'

He chuckles. 'In all fairness, I probably wouldn't have noticed if I hadn't already been looking for someone following us. I _knew_ Dumbledore would send someone, even though he said he wouldn't.'

Malfoy shakes his head. 'I'm sorry, you were _following_ us?'

'Tonks is one of my usuals,' quips Potter, and throws Tonks a grin. 'Glad it was you and not Mundungus.'

Tonks wrinkles her nose. 'Ah, I wouldn't worry about him. He's been dropped from the rotation after that incident with the goblets.'

Potter nods.

'Excuse me,' interrupts Malfoy. 'You have a _rotation_ of _stalkers_? This is okay with you?'

Potter blinks at him. 'There's not really much I can do about it. Besides, it's not so bad. Tonks is alright. She's your cousin.'

'Cousin?'

Tonks lets her features melt back into their natural position. One that might make her look more recognisable to Malfoy. He blinks, and cocks his head to one side, his brown eyes widening imperceptibly.

'You're a metamorphous,' he says and Tonks thinks she detects a trace of awe.

'Cool, right?' says Potter, still grinning.

'Tonks,' Malfoy says again, back to frowning. 'As in Nymphadora?'

'Er, I wouldn't call her that if I were you,' says Potter in a stage whisper, leaning over to Malfoy. 'Apparently calling her by her first name is what lost Mad-Eye his leg.'

Malfoy raises a dubious eyebrow, until Tonks says, 'Pinky, actually.'

Hagrid chuckles. 'She's a righ' spitfire this un.'

Tonks grins up at him. 'Hope you don't mind my crashing the party.'

'Course not,' says Hagrid with a warm smile. 'Always happy to have more. Though we're almos' finished 'ere anyway. Just the one stop left.'

Tonks shrugs. 'That's okay. I'll tag along anyway. And I'll take that ice-cream.'

* * *

Kingsley glances up as she enters the office, giving her a brief nod before refocusing on whatever report he's working on. 'Anything to report?'

Tonks grins. 'Nothing much,' she says. 'Except that Harry has one hell of a crush going on.'

Kingsley pauses and frowns up at her. 'Crush?' he asks.

She drops into the seat opposite his desk and laughs. 'Keep up Kingsley,' she says. 'He _likes_ someone. You know, as in romantically.'

Kingsley raises an eyebrow at her, before shaking his head and continuing to mark up the report (she wonders briefly whose it is, and hopes it's not one of hers). 'And this is note-worthy?'

'It is if you consider who he has the crush _on_ ,' she says.

She thinks about the souvenir shirts and the framed map that Malfoy hadn't yet given to Potter by days end. Wistfully, she wishes she could be there to see Potter get it.

'I have a strong suspicion that the feeling is mutual,' she adds. 'I won't be surprised if Potter bags a boyfriend by Christmas.'

'And who is the recipient of such emotions?'

Tonk's grin widens. 'Draco Malfoy,' she says with relish. 'Who knows, maybe Harry and I really will end up relatives.'

Kingsley's eyes—which hadn't even blinked at the term "boyfriend"—widen imperceptibly. The man was plain unflappable. 'Well,' he says, _finally_ putting down his quill and regarding her fully. 'That is interesting.'

* * *

There was meant to be a little bit more to this chapter, but I decided to cut it since this was getting long and I was starting to struggle with Tonks' POV. Next chapter we'll find out about the last stop at the Zoo and what their task is for the rest of CoMC.

Also, I apologise for any spelling errors, I'm so tired I didn't edit it _at_ all...


	24. Lingering

**A/N:** I apologise. I rewrote this chapter about four times before I was happy with it, which is why it's taken so long for me to post.

Also, I'm probably going to stick to once weekly updates for a while as I've recently found out about a health issue that's going to make things a bit difficult for me for the foreseeable future. I'm still churning out chapter summaries though and I'm getting an idea on how to finish this story (still a fair few chapters to go though) so I hope you stick with me.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Four

 _Lingering_

 ** _Greg:_**

There's an obvious silence around Draco's bed this morning. Greg's the only one up early enough to notice, but he knows better than to comment on it. He pretends not to see when Draco emerges, perspiring, shirtless and red faced; and Greg focuses instead on lumbering through his own morning routine as Draco disappears into the bathroom. Greg waits until he hears the shower start, then trots over to Draco's bed and pulls the curtains Draco has left wide open shut.

Somehow Greg doesn't think that Draco will want any of the others knowing that he's been sleeping in the souvenir shirt he got with Potter.

Especially seeing that Blaise has taken to noticing every little thing Draco does now. Not that Blaise notices the things that Greg notices. No one does.

That's not to say that they're can't. In fact, plenty of his housemates are good at noticing things. Blaise is perhaps the best of them, what with his dark, watchful eyes, his easy smile, and his approachable humour. People like to _talk_ to Blaise. They tell him things. And Blaise hears the things they don't say. The in between things.

Theo, too, when he isn't so self-occupied, has a mind sharper and brighter than anyone Greg has met. Not to mention Daphne, with her studious nature.

Even Draco—though arrogant and spoilt—is good at noticing things.

But none of them have what Greg has. When Blaise or Theo or Daphne of Draco want to find out something, they have to go searching for it. They have to be calculated, plan things out, use every situation to their advantage.

They have to be _Slytherin_.

Because of that, people are more careful around them.

But not Greg.

He thinks he rather likes being underestimated. People think he's dumb and slow, and maybe he's not as sharp as his year mates—he certainly can't read between the lines like Blaise or Theo can, and he's not any good at double talk like Draco and Pansy are—but he is good at being _quiet_.

Yes, people think he's big and bulking and stupid, but because of that, they do and say things they would take more care not to do around others. They assume he's not paying attention, that he's too _slow_ to notice.

But he does notice.

He notices lots of things.

Like the way Draco disappears out the common room door half an hour before breakfast. Which isn't all that unusual, except that Potter is waiting on the other side. Greg has a good view from where he's sitting at the study table, getting in some last minute homework.

Potter, leaning on the wall just outside the door, looks up, and Greg has just enough time to see Potter's face light up as Draco steps out, to hear Draco's quiet 'I told you to _wait_ —' before the door slams shut behind them.

Greg blinks, then lowers his head and gets back to his homework.

Bit by bit the rest of his house trickles down into the Common Room, but no one seems to notice Draco's absence. No on, that is, except Blaise, who looks around the common room with a slight frown.

'He's gone again?' Blaise asks as they gather up their things for the day ahead.

Greg shrugs, Theo grunts, and Vince just flat out ignores them—too busy looking for Millicent (who hasn't yet come up from the girls dorm).

Blaise frowns. He looks at Greg. 'You were up early this morning, did you see him?'

Greg shrugs again, keeping his face bland. 'Went somewhere,' he says in his best dull tone.

Blaise rolls his eyes, but is distracted by the entrance of the girls. Pansy and Tracey are bickering as they approach, and Millicent and Daphne look rather pained.

'Morning ladies,' says Blaise, one eyebrow raised in that enquiring way of his that somehow manages to get him the answers to all his questions.

Daphne makes a face. 'Don't ask,' she says, glancing back over her shoulder at Pansy and Tracey. 'They've been at it all bloody morning.'

They head out together. Tracey and Pansy take the lead, their irritation quickening their pace as they walk—their heels clacking against the marble floors.

Theo wanders along behind them, lost in some sort of reverie that no one seems to want to intrude.

Daphne shifts to stand next to Blaise, creating space so that Millicent can naturally fall in next to Vince. This time it's not just Greg pretending not to notice things. They all are. They wander up through the castle toward the Great Hall, ignoring the situation unfolding between Millicent and Vince. Ignoring the fact that several first and second years trail their group, never allowing the older group to get out of sight.

Every now and then Blaise or Daphne glance back, asking Greg a rather pointless question about homework, but really keeping the younger years within sight. By now it's tradition. The older years protecting the younger. It's not like the other houses, where the years can roam freely on their own, confident they won't be targeted. In Slytherin it was different.

'Where's Draco this morning?' asks Daphne.

At first, Greg is distracted by the question. But then he spies the small book she slips from her pocket to hand to Blaise.

'Not sure,' says Blaise. 'Probably off terrorising some poor firstie. Say, did you finish the homework?'

Blaise accepts it without q

As Blaise talks, he swipes the book, tucking it into the depths of his robes as if the exchange had never happened. Greg keeps his face impassive in case either of them look back at him again.

'Hm, almost,' says Daphne, not asking to clarify _what_ homework Blaise is referring too. 'I'm having trouble with the conclusion.'

'Ah,' says Blaise. 'Well, if you need another perspective, I can always take a look at your notes.'

'That's alright,' says Daphne. 'I think the fewer eyes involved the better. I wouldn't want my judgement to get clouded.'

Blaise nods, but his shoulders are tense and Greg understands why. He understands that they aren't really talking about homework. They're talking about Theo. They're talking about the letters Theo's father is still sending him. The letters that have put Theo in this mood. The letters Blaise secretly made copies off, slipping into his Mother's Grimoire to pass on to Daphne.

Greg isn't sure what the pair plan to do about those letters, only that—if Blaise's family Grimoire is involved—that they plan to do _something_. Greg doesn't blame them. He wants to do something about it too.

'So,' Daphne asks. 'Any new developments with the Potter situation?'

Blaise's shoulders relax and he affects a casual tone. 'Potter situation?'

Daphne rolls her eyes. 'Please. Half the year knows about your bet with Granger.'

She's right there. Even Greg knows about it. Though, that's because Blaise left his betting book lying around again and Greg happened to see it when he was tidying up the dorm room (as usual he was the only one who cared about their weekly inspections).

'Do you _really_ think they're friends?' asks Daphne, turning her head to look at Blaise, staring at him with those serious blue eyes.

Blaise tilts his head. 'Well, they _are_ spending an inordinate amount of time together.'

'Not through choice.' Theo glances back over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow at Blaise.

His interruption of their conversation—and the obvious fact that he'd been listening—was exactly the reason Daphne and Blaise had been talking in code not moments before.

'Maybe not,' Blaise says. 'But they're being pretty damn civil about it.'

'What's Granger's part in all of this?' asks Daphne.

Blaise snorts. ' _She_ thinks that Draco is considering Bird Watching.'

Daphne frowns. 'Bird watching? What…oh, _oh_. Hang on, _really_?'

Blaise grins. 'That's what I said. There's no _way_. Draco is a Malfoy. He's a snake through and through. There are no birds in his future.'

Theo snorts. 'And yet you think he's becoming friends with the biggest bird of them all.'

It takes Greg a moment to figure out what the hell they're talking about. After all, Potter is a Gryffindor, not a Ravenclaw. But it's not until they're settling themselves at Slytherin table that a flash of colour at the head table catches his eye. Dumbledore, in a pair of bright orange robes, that are somewhat reminiscent of the Phoenix that lives in…something in Greg's brain clicks and he realises that Daphne and Blaise were talking about the Order. The opposite side. Greg pauses with the jug of juice halfway to his glass.

'Alright there Greg?' asks Blaise, smirking in amusement.

Greg shakes himself and gives Blaise a brief nod. 'Yeah,' he says. 'Just thinking.'

'That's a first,' says Pansy, dropping into a seat across from him.

Greg glowers at her. He contemplates throwing a stinging hex her way, but he's still thinking about the fact that Granger thinks Draco is switching sides.

He thinks about that for a moment.

Could she be right?

Well, _none_ of them were right, Greg is sure. But still, with what he knows—what he's _noticed_ —really, it's only a matter of time before one of them _does_ switch.

He thinks about that. About the way Draco and Potter watch each other every meal time. The quiet way they talk in class, sitting _just_ close enough for hands to brush against each other, for their shoulders to touch, for their legs to press together. They way they wander off to Care of Magical Creatures, bickering relentlessly until they're out of ear shot and then dropping into casual conversation, their postures relaxing as they head the rest of the way down to the forest—looking completely at ease with each other. The way they linger there after class, leaning on the fence of the Thestral paddock, talking where they think no one can see them. The way Potter waits for Draco out front of Slytherin common room each morning, eager to slip away where no one will see them.

Draco arrives at the breakfast table, breaking Greg out of his thoughts.

'Hey,' Draco says to no one in particular, and reaches for the coffee.

'Where have _you_ been?' Pansy asks, turning on him in an instant.

Draco rolls his eyes, and the expression is almost flawless. ' _Potter_ ,' he says, spitting out the word with a little too much force. 'Almost destroyed our muggle studies assignment. I had to spend my entire morning fixing it. Honestly, that idiot is supposed to be the saviour of the wizarding world? He couldn't save a bloody fish from drowning.'

'Do fish drown?' asks Vince, and sniggers erupt around the table.

Theo throws Blaise a pointed look and Blaise rolls his eyes.

Greg, however, is watching Draco. He sees it because he knows what to look for. The faint flush up the back of Draco's neck. The way his collar is pulled up tight around his neck, but his shirt is untucked.

Blaise, of course, doesn't see these things. Because he hasn't known Draco as long as Greg has. Hell they've barely been friends until this year. He doesn't know what to look for. But Greg does. He's seen Draco flirt. He's seen Draco on a conquest. But this? This is different. This is _wanting_. And if there's one thing Greg knows about Draco, it's that he always gets what he wants.

The question is, what will he do if someone else (someone like the Dark Lord) wants what he has more? What's more, what will it do to Slytherin if Granger ends up _right_?


	25. Freefall

**_A/N:_** I got a little excited about this chapter, and seeing as I made you wait so long for the last one I thought I'd post it early.

Next chapter is almost finished, and definitely kicks up the fluffy level.

_

Chapter Twenty-Five

 _Freefall_

 _ **Ginny:**_

The air whistles by her ears as she flattens herself against her broom, half rolling as she ducks and weaves through the oppositions defences.

Somewhere from her left there's a shout, and a _thwack_ as a bludger is sent careening in her direction. She dips the nose of her broom down, hears a loud whistle or air skate across her head, and resumes her rush at the goals.

Blaise Zabini is guarding the goal posts. He winks at her. She shoots his a wicked grin, rolls to her left and, with a deft flick of her wrist combined with a sudden sharp turn, she smacks the tail end of her broom into the quaffle, sending it spinning off to the right end of the goals—where Zabini isn't guarding.

It goes through. She smirks, sending Zabini a return wink. He shakes his head, but offers her an impressed smile. The score lights up 80-40 to Gryffindor. The crowds are cheering—most of the stands in favour of Gryffindor—and somewhere above her she hears Harry's familiar whoop of delight.

She looks for him as she returns to her place, adrenaline rushing in her ears, and finds him several metres above the game—his usual go to when observing for the snitch. He waves at her, but by the time she's waved back, Malfoy is there.

Harry's gaze shifts, his grin never fading as he retorts to something Malfoy has just said. Malfoy just shakes his head, his own smirk firmly in place as he leans forward.

Despite what she knows, it's still bizarre to see them like this. Casually chatting above a game of Quidditch, each as relaxed as the other. That relaxation filters down into the rest of them. For the first Slytherin versus Gryffindor match, there's been far less aggression than there usually is.

Ginny isn't sure how many of the other players have noticed Harry and Malfoy's casual bickering high above the game, interspersed with the occasional bout of areal acrobatics.

So far the snitch has remained elusive, but the boys dart through the game every now and then, throwing the rest of the players into chaos and laughing all the while, spreading a sense of calm and enjoyment through the field.

Ginny and her fellow chasers race back and forth between the goal posts.

'Keep it up Gin!' Ron shouts after she scores her third goal, pumping his arm to cheer her on, and Ginny feels a glow of pride.

A glow that only bubbles further to life as Ron defends two quaffle throws in a row. He grins wide and calls out to the Slytherin chasers,

'Nice try mate, but you'll have to hit harder than that!'

'Just you wait til the next round Weasley!'

And Ginny marvels at the lighthearted banter that flows between the players that, only a year before, would've been at each other's throats.

The snitch flickers up passed her face, darting across the sky and she spins, almost giving chase but catching herself just in time. She glances up, sees Harry and Malfoy's heads swivel in her direction at the same time, and in a flash they're both flattened over their brooms making chase.

Out of the corner of her eye Ginny sees a Slytherin chaser make a break for Gryffindor goals. She stops watching Harry and Malfoy dipping and diving through the sky and races off to guard her end of the pitch.

Out of no where, Harry shoots across Ginny's path.

'Sorry!' he shouts, the words whipping away from him as he twists sharply to the left and dives hard after a flash of gold.

Ginny shakes her head, watching as Malfoy comes up from below, attempting to cut Harry off. He calls something—she can hear his voice but not the words—and Harry laughs in response, doing a quick spin mid dive, almost in reply to whatever Malfoy said. The snitch changes course, rocketing skyward.

Harry, mid-roll, throws his broom around, spinning in a dizzying 180 turn and racing off after the snitch. Malfoy curses, flicks his broom sideways and makes chase.

That, of course, is when it all goes to hell.

Conner hits a bludger from below, aiming for the Slytherin with the Quaffle, who dodges just in time to avoid getting a broken leg, and the bludger shoots passed, high up into the air.

It curves upwards and out. Straight toward Harry and Malfoy, looping back around in their chase of the Snitch. It's too close and too far. It's too close to the boys for any of them to do anything. Too far for Ginny's shout of warning to make any difference.

Malfoy has swooped up and around, while Harry carves a soft curve through the sky from below. He's laughing, and Malfoy glances down at him, but his smile vanishes. His eyes go wide. He throws out a hand. Turns his broom hard right and down, straight into Harry, shoving them both into a roll just as the bludger reaches them.

 _Crack_!

They go tumbling. One over the other, a mess of limbs and broomsticks and Ginny can't tell whose been hit or where; only that—from the sound of that bone-breaking crack—one of them has.

She flattens herself on her broom. On the other side of the pitch, two beaters—one from Slytherin and one from Gryffindor—push their brooms to the limit. But none of them are going to get there in time. Ginny throws her weight into her broom and wishes Fred and George were still here. She tries to judge where they're going to fall, but she's never been very good at predicting trajectory of a falling body.

Harry and Malfoy become untangled. Harry's eyes are open, and a surge of relief rushes through Ginny when she realises he's still conscious, that he hasn't been hit—a relief that is swallowed up by fear when she sees his broom tumble away from him. He twists in the air, arms outstretched, searching. His fingers brush the handle, once, twice, three times. On the forth, his hand locks around the broom.

He gets it under him, but instead of stopping, instead pulling up out of the nose dive he's in, he flattens himself and rockets downwards.

'Draco!'

But Malfoy doesn't hear him.

Ginny and the Beaters are still too far away. Harry is pelting toward the ground, pushing his firebolt as fast as it will go, but it's not fast enough. Flailing through the air trying to catch his broom had slowed his fall. Unlike Malfoy. Malfoy, who was just dead weight in the air.

' _Draco_!'

Harry's shout is desperate and scared and Ginny's heart is in her throat, but she's still racing toward them, still trying to get there in time.

Harry reaches out.

They're so close to the ground. Malfoy is falling head first, Harry's hand brushes Malfoy's leg but it's not enough to grab hold. They're going to hit the ground, they're going to—

' _No_!'

Light, blinding and white, erupts in front of her and Ginny cries out, pulling up to a stop. In the absence of the wind there's a sudden quiet. So she hears the splash that follows the blinding flash.

Splash?

She opens her eyes and her jaw drops.

The pitch, the _entire_ pitch, has been transformed into a lake.

Harry, still pointed at the ground—the water—tumbles away from his broom, his eyes rolling back, to fall into the water with a soft splash.

'What the hell?' says Peakes—the Gryffindor beater—staring down at the water in shock.

They're all in shock. The rest of their teams—in various stages of pursuit—staring down at the now lapping water. The water Harry and Malfoy have sunk into.

Ginny's adrenaline spikes up another notch as she watches Harry sink into the water. Without thinking, she slips sideways off her broom.

'What the hell are you doing?' Peakes yells at her and she hangs by her hands off her broom, her feet brushing the water.

'They aren't conscious!' she takes a deep breath—not knowing how deep the water is—and drops into the water.

Cold slams into her, and it's all she can do to keep hold of the breath in her chest. She can taste salt on her lips, but she braces herself and opens her eyes. They burn instantly, but she squints against the salt water and sees Harry floating in the water just feet from her, his heavy quidditch gear dragging him down.

She grabs at his arms and, her lungs burning already, kicks madly for the surface.

Her head breaks through the water with a gasp, and she pulls on Harry, struggling to draw his sodden weight up from the water.

'Weasley!' It's Goyle, his arm outstretched as he hovers just above the water. 'Give 'im here.'

Taking another deep breath, Ginny braces herself and pushes up, pulling Harry as far up out of the water as she can manage, shoving herself down beneath the surface in the process.

All at once, Harry's weight is pulled free, and she comes up spluttering. Goyle, with Peakes' help, has hauled Harry out of the water, and already the two are peeling away toward the stands.

There's another splash to her left. Zabini's head breaks the water, shaking his hair out of his face as he gets his bearings.

'Over here,' says Ginny, paddling to the spot where she can still see Malfoy. 'Careful, the water stings.'

Without waiting for Zabini to reply, she takes a breath and ducks back under the water.

Malfoy is heavier than Harry, but he's also been in the water longer and the adrenaline racing through Ginny's veins helps her reach for strength she doesn't have.

Her lungs are burning, her capacity for holding her breath has never been very good. She's going to have to let go. She needs air. But she's scared. If she needs air…she twists in the water, turning to face Malfoy, she holds his face in her hands and—unsure if it'll work—presses her lips against his, blowing what little air she has into his mouth.

She doesn't know if it'll work, but she desperately needs to breathe. She lets him go.

Zabini passes her as she kicks for the surface, and a pinprick of relief assuages her guilt. Gasping at the air, she sees another hand reaching out.

'Ginny!'

She coughs, shaking her head. 'Not yet,' she rasps, and turns to dive back under.

She meets Zabini just below the surface, grabbing at Malfoy's free arm to help pull him up. With two of them, it's much easier, and they break the surface a moment later.

'Take him,' she gasps, barely able to keep herself out of the water.

As she blinks away the salt water, tears helping to clear away the awful sting in her eyes, she sees that it's Ron and Katie who have Malfoy. Ron glances back over his shoulder at her, worry in his face, and she pulls a tired arm out of the water to wave at him, trying to reassure him that she's okay.

In truth, she's so tired she's not sure how much longer she can keep treading water. She's not had a lot of experience with swimming, and the task is harder than she'd thought.

'Here,' says Zabini, reaching out for her. 'Hold on to me.'

'I'm fine,' she says.

She squints around the pitch, searching for a place she can swim to and get the hell out of the water.

Zabini sighs. 'No, you're not,' he says, and grabs at her arm.

At first she resists him, but her gear is weighing her down, and she really is exhausted though they haven't been in the water that long. Zabini turns in the water, looping her arm over his shoulder and around his neck, so that she's pressed against his back.

'Gin!' Dean is racing toward them.

He's gotten an extra broom from somewhere, and he draws to a stop above them and holds out the spare broom.

'Can you reach up?' he calls.

She stares up at the broom. Her arms feel heavy just at the prospect, but Zabini shrugs his shoulders, glancing over at her over his shoulder.

'C'mon Weasley,' he says, flashing her a grin. 'You're not gonna let one more push get the best of you, are you?'

Irritation spikes. Along with determination. In response, she braces her arms on his shoulders and uses him to push up out of the water. Surprise lights his face. Right before he's dunked under the water.

The push is all she needs. She reaches up and latches onto the broom. Dean holds it steady, making sure she doesn't drag it back down into the water with her. She tries not to groan, but she gets her other arm over the broom and somehow, somehow, manages to clamber back on the broom.

Zabini sputters beneath her, and she shoots him a tired grin, offering him a hand as he brushes water out of his face.

'I'll get him, Gin, you get to the stands,' says Dean, shifting his broom into her path.

She's too tired to protest. Leaving them to it, she turns her broom and searches for a place to land. By the time she gets to the stands, Harry and Malfoy are already gone.

'Ginny? You okay?' asks Ron, hurrying over to her as she all but topples onto the platform.

'Yeah,' she pants. 'Are they?'

Worry flashes over his face. 'I dunno,' he says, glancing back over his shoulder. 'They've gone to the Hospital Wing.'

'Were they at least breathing?'

Ron nods. He frowns at her, pulls out his wand and contours a thick blanket, wrapping her up in it.

'Gin,' he says, and he's looking out over the lake that now encompasses the entire pitch. 'What the hell happened out there? What happened to the pitch?'

She shakes her head. All she can think to say is, 'it was Harry.'

'Harry…did this?'

'Yeah,' she says.

'That's insane.'

She looks out at the water, thinks about how deep that water was that she couldn't even touch the ground. 'Yeah,' she says.

'Why?' asks Ron, looking back at her in complete bafflement.

She looks at him. At her brother. Best friend to the boy who lived.

She thinks about the last time they were at odds, and how absolutely, pig-headed and stubborn he was. She can't fathom how he'll react. She doens't know how to tell him.

'Isn't it obvious?' says Zabini, dragging himself off the back of Dean's broom with a tired smile. 'He did it to save Draco.'


	26. Pain and Warmth

Chapter Twenty-Six

 _Pain and Warmth_

 _ **Draco:**_

 _Ba-boom. Ba-boom. Ba-boom._

His heartbeat pounds in his head. Reverberating through his skull at a deafening level, building heavy pressure behind his eyes. He shifts, the pain throbbing along every surface of his brain. Merlin he hurts. Why the _fuck_ does he hurt? He tries to remember, but that only results in more pain.

He whimpers and rolls onto his side. His senses try to orient themselves. Voices echo, but the relentless rush of blood in his ears makes it hard to focus.

He groans, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to push away the pain.

The voices rise, competing with the pounding in his head. Fragments of conversation assault him as he swims in and out of the darkness at the edges of his consciousness. God, he wished they would all shut the fuck up.

'—to know what happened.'

'You will do no such thing! He has a head wound, Albus, he's hardly fit—'

His mind tries to identify the familiar voices, but the steady thump, thump in his brain overwhelms every other thought. For a moment everything goes dark.

'—make a replenishing potions. At least then we'll know if he can even cast—'

'—lucky to be alive. It might take days for Potter to even wake—'

'—really think it was so much?'

'—expended his _entire_ magical core. It'll be a miracle if—'

Somewhere in the back of Draco's mind alarm bells are ringing. They're talking about Potter. They're not supposed to be talking about Potter. Potter is supposed to be fine.

But why? Why does everything feel so wrong? And why does his bloody head hurt so fucking much?

He groans again.

A cool touch to his head has him squinting open his eyes.

'How is your head?' asks Madam Pomfrey.

He squeezes his eyes shut again. 'Hurts,' he says, his voice croaking.

'Yes, I imagine it does,' she says, and gently presses onto his shoulder in a motion designed to make him roll onto his back.

Reluctant, he does so, uncurling from the position he's been screwed up in. Once he's straight, she taps on his shoulder, slipping her hand behind him to help him sit up. She has a cup of foul smelling liquid in her other hand.

He wrinkles his nose, but takes it, leaning back on one arm as he downs the drink in one gulp. It's not as bad as it smells, but it's by no means something he ever wants to drink again.

'Can you tell me your name?'

'Draco Malfoy,' he says, handing her back the cup.

'What's the last thing you remember?'

'You, arguing with the Headmaster,' he says, frowning as he glances around the room and sees no sign of the man. 'But before that, I was playing quidditch. Is it…what day is it?'

She nods but ignores his question, casting two quick spells. Irritation shoots up his spine and he's about to ask his question again when he notices how tired she looks. Draco is no stranger to the hospital wing, particularly in the last two months, and yet he can recall ever seeing the Medi-Witch look tired before. Her hair falls in wisps out of it's customary bun, her shoulders are tense, and she holds herself with a strained kind of exhaustion.

She looks at him with drawn eyes. 'How do you feel?' she asks.

Her tone is such a stark contrast to the tiredness clinging to her, that he's momentarily thrown. 'Like I just got hit in the head by a bludger,' he says, voice deadpan.

Her lips twitch and she straightens. 'Well, at least your sarcasm didn't suffer any injury,' she says, and crosses her arms. 'The pain should ease somewhat now with the potion. Stay in bed until I say otherwise, but let me know if you feel any lingering pain. Oh, and it's still Thursday,' she adds with a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. 'You were only out a few hours.'

She turns, and Draco expects her to clack away back to her office, but instead she only takes three steps, stopping at the next bed over.

The bed where Potter is laying.

Draco's body goes cold and still, the pounding in his head dying away to nothing (whether due to the potion or his shock, he doesn't know). Without thinking, he swings his legs off the bed and follows Pomfrey, eyes fixed to the prone body on the other bed.

Potter is pale. Except it's not a pale like Draco is pale, but a ghostly, sickly pale, his skin tinged in grey. Shadows carve deep grooves under his eyes, his cheeks gaunt and hollowed, as if—and Draco's gut clenches—all the life has been sucked out of him.

'What…what happened?'

She glances at him, raising an eyebrow in disapproval. 'Didn't I just tell you to stay in bed?' she says, a statement rather than a question and it's an indication of her level of exhaustion that she didn't even notice him follow her.

'What happened to him?' Draco asks again, more forcefully, his fists clenching at his sides. 'He didn't get hit. He can't have got hit. Besides that wouldn't have…he wouldn't be…How…?'

Dizziness assaults his vision and Potter blurs before him. He sways and a hand steadies him—though it's not Pomfrey.

'Severus,' says Pomfrey, turning to look at the man. 'Did you finish the potion?'

He hands her a large, glass potion flask, the liquid inside a shimmering blue, and Pomfrey takes it with small sigh of what Draco suspects is relief.

'Albus is on his way,' says Severus, and turns to Draco, his hand tightening on Draco's shoulder. 'Back to bed, Malfoy.'

'I'm fine,' says Draco, shrugging him off. 'What happened to Potter?'

There's a tense silence while Pomfrey turns her attention back to Potter, leaving Severus to deal with Draco. He bristles, annoyed that his question is once again being annoyed.

'Potter will be fine, but you won't be if you don't get back into bed.'

Draco catches the expression of worry and doubt that flashes across Pomfrey's face at Severus' words. She spells Potter into a sitting position and tilts his head back, pouring the shimmering blue liquid down his throat with slow carefulness.

Draco watches, unable to look away, unable to stop seeing how thin Potter looks like this. How small. How vulnerable.

Fury swells in his gut. He doesn't want to see this. Potter isn't supposed to be weak. Potter is supposed to be…

'Draco,' says Severus again.

'Pomfrey already said I'm fine,' Draco snaps. 'What happened to him?'

'Head injuries are serious. Even for wizards. Just because you're fine at the moment doesn't mean you aren't still at risk of permanent damage. Get back into bed. I won't tell you again.'

Draco scowls, but the dizziness takes hold of him again. 'Why…Why won't you just tell me what the hell is wrong with him?' he asks, frowning as he tries to stop the world from spinning.

'Mr Potter is suffering from magical exhaustion.' The headmaster's voice is as calm and gentle as ever and yet they send Draco's vision into a spin.

He swallows. He remembers the time Pansy accidentally summoned an entire magazine's worth of clothes just before her ninth birthday and how she'd spent all week in bed. How frail it had made her—Pansy, so loud and ferocious, constrained to a bed, barely able to lift her own head.

'How bad is it?' he asks, his vision clouding over.

'Well,' says Dumbledore, moving further into the room. 'The situation is certainly not ideal. But Hogwarts has one of the finest Potions Masters in all of Britain and, if I do say so myself, a rather talented medi-witch.'

Draco's vision clears just in time to see Pomfrey shoot Albus a dark look. She lowers Potter back onto the bed, adjusts his blankets and then turns to glower at the Headmaster.

'He's had the potion,' she says. 'You'll just have to wait until he wakes now.'

'Surely if you—'

'I won't wake him too soon, Albus. I mean it,' she says, and suddenly she doesn't look tired anymore. She looks fierce and determined and _furious_. 'I won't risk his life just so you can find out if he can still use magic. You can just wait.'

Draco's stomach bottoms out and he sits down hard on the edge of his bed. 'He…could die?'

They all look at him. Pomfrey's expression shifts, as if just remembering that he's in the room.

'Of course not, my dear boy,' says Albus, smiling benignly at him. 'Madam Pomfrey is just being diligent, as is her duty. She's quite right. Harry should get all the rest he can before he wakes. Better for his recovery that way. You'll let me know when he wakes of course?'

Madam Pomfrey purses her lips. 'Of course,' she says.

The headmaster nods, apparently not noticing (or ignoring) the thick sarcasm in Madam Pomfrey's voice.

'A word, Severus?' Dumbledore says, and the two men (Severus giving Draco a worried glance) leave the room.

Madam Pomfrey huffs. 'Honestly,' she says, flicking her wand and Draco. 'That man is utterly insufferable.'

Draco's body flops back onto the bed against his will, the blankets flying out of the way before encasing him again the moment his back hits the mattress, tucking themselves in at the edges so that he feels pinned down. He starts to protest, but Pomfrey points her wand at him, remnants of her anger surging through her gaze.

'Here,' she says, fishing a potion from the various pockets in her robes. 'Drink this.' She tips the potion gently down his throat and too late he realises what it is.

A deep heaviness washes over him, relaxing his muscles, making his eyes droop. 'You…you drugged me,' he says accusingly.

He tries for a half hearted glare, but Madam Pomfrey only raises her eyebrows.

'You need to rest,' she says simply and—with one last look at Potter—she storms from the room.

Draco looks over at Potter, still prone and unmoving on his own bed, and frowns. What did he do?

'You better not die, Potter,' he murmurs into the eerie quiet of the large room.

Before dreamlessness can consume him memories go crashing through his brain. The match. Flying through the air. Potter laughing. The bludger, heading straight for them. Shock, fear, realisation. It's going to hit them. It's going to hit _Potter_. Desperation. Instinct. _Pain_. Nothing.

'Draco?'

His eyes flash open. Green eyes stare back at him.

'Potter? You're awake.'

Potter's face twitches. The briefest flash of exasperation crossing his features before being swallowed up by the sheer exhaustion still clinging to his body.

'I heard your voice,' he murmurs.

'You woke up because you heard my voice?' Draco asks.

Later, much later (when his brain isn't clouded by the fog of a potion trying to drag him to sleep) he'll marvel at the implication of that comment.

'Yes,' says Potter, his voice even softer. Sleepy. He closes his eyes and whispers. 'I'm glad you're okay.'

'Stupid,' says Draco, his voice thick. 'That's my line.'

A faint smile twitches onto Potter's face, but it's gone almost as soon as it appears.

'Are you?' Draco asks. 'Okay?'

'I'm tired,' says Potter. 'And Cold.'

Draco frowns. Potter is already slipping back into the depths of his exhaustion. Worry niggles at Draco, but he brushes it away. This is not the "waking up" that the headmaster was looking for. He's not ready yet. He's _clearly_ not ready yet. No, this is something else. Something just for Draco.

With a sluggish glance toward Madam Pomfrey's quarters, Draco pulls the covers free. His limbs are heavy and his mind is starting to cloud over as he attempts to fight off the sleeping draught.

'One step after the other,' he mumbles, dragging himself and all his bed covers over to Potter's bed.

Predictably he trips over the trailing blankets and slams into the edge of Potter's bed.

He groans. 'Stupid saviour,' he grumbles into Potter's arm. 'Stupid Gryffindor's and their stupid lack of self preservation. Should just let you freeze.'

Potter shifts, eyes flickering open again.

'What're you doing?'

'Hush,' says Draco.

Somehow he manages to hook his foot around one of the visitor chairs sitting against the wall. He pulls it toward him and falls in. In a slow, clumsy motion that takes far too much of his energy, he swoops his blankets around so that they manage cover him sitting in his chair, and Potter curled up on the edge of the bed. The last of his energy seeps away from him and his head drops back onto Potter's arm. Darkness clouds his mind and though somewhere at the back of his mind (very far at the back) his brain is telling him that this is a _bad_ idea, all he can care about is how surprisingly comfortable he is.

Just before the darkness swoops in, he hears Potter make a soft noice of contentment. A hand slips into his and then, warmth spreading through him, Draco is asleep.

* * *

 **A/N:** So who is your favourite POV so far? Who would you like to see that we haven't had yet?


	27. The Morning After

Chapter Twenty-Seven

 _The Morning After_

 ** _Madam Pomfrey:_**

Poppy is a patient woman. After all, she's worked with Albus Dumbledore for over twenty years, and Merlin knows that man can test the patience of any sane witch or wizard that is forced to spend prolonged periods of time in his presence.

Still, she has managed so far. Dealing with Werewolves, underage Animagus', Basilisk attacks, dementers, ridiculous tournaments, and various Quidditch and Potions related mishaps. No matter the hurdle, no matter the injury (far more, she might add, than any school has a right to have), she handles it with a calm expertise that only came from living through a war.

Yet, all of that comes to naught in the face of one Harry James Potter.

Poppy sighs, pushing aside the heavy tome in front of her and flicking through Potter's file yet again. It's a thick file. Thicker than any other student she's treated in the twenty odd years she's worked at Hogwarts (a decent feat considering she's had a young werewolf in her care). From his very first year, Harry Potter has had a penchant for getting himself into trouble. Even so, none of the previous years compare to the extensive notes she's written over the last several months. The injuries from before the start of school term. The panic attacks. The magic fluctuations. And now this—extreme magical exhaustion.

Suspicions form in her mind, sifting through the recent events, the things she's heard, making connections that seem absurd and unlikely, and yet—her gaze flicks to the book she's just pushed aside—more and more troubling.

Most wizards who use as much magic as Potter has just done end up in comas. At worst, without magical intervention, the physical strain is enough to cause organ damage. Tainted livers. Ruptured spleens. Heart failure.

As it is Poppy spent the entire afternoon after the incident repairing damage to Potter's lungs and kidney and getting him out of danger. He's still sleeping, not unexpected considering how drained he was, yet worry still niggles at her mind.

She shakes her head and leans back in her seat. 'That boy has as many lives as a cat,' she mutters.

'A cat?' says a voice from behind her. 'I believe he's far exceeded a cat's lives by now.'

Poppy smiles and turns to regard Minerva with a raised brow. 'Speaking from experience, are you?'

Minerva merely twitches her lips into a sardonic smile as she steps the rest of the way out of the fireplace. 'How is he?'

Poppy sighs and glances back at her file. How was she supposed to answer that question? She wants to tell Minerva what's on her mind. After all, Minerva is not only a respected colleague, but her friend. They've worked together over twenty years, and there is no one else whose opinion Poppy valued more (not to mention the fact that—being Potter's head of house—there was no one better suited to give Poppy input on Potter). And yet, patient confidentiality prevented her from discussing anything regarding Potter's situation with anyone except the Headmaster—and quite frankly, with the state of Albus' own health, Poppy doesn't see him as a viable option. She resists the urge to sigh.

'Much better since the phoenix tears,' she says. 'His core is stable. I'm…fairly confident he'll still have use of his magic.'

Minerva frowns. 'Yet you're still worried,' she observes.

This time Poppy does sigh. 'Yes,' she says simply. 'I don't think this is the end of it.'

Minerva's frown deepens. 'You think there will be lingering effects?'

'N-o,' says Poppy slowly. 'I think…oh, to hell with it. To be quite frank, I think this display of magic was caused by something else. An underlying condition.'

Minerva raises her eyebrows. Her gaze flicks almost subconsciously to Poppy's desk, drawn—no doubt—by Potter's file. It's there that she catches sight of the large book on the edge of Poppy's desk.

Understanding flashes across her face. Understanding…and horror.

'You don't think…' Minerva trails off, sharp eyes fixing back on Poppy. 'Surely not. That disease is just about unheard of. Has there even been a record of it since Morgana Le Fay herself?'

'Yes, actually' says Poppy. 'Seven recorded cases. And only two in magical Britain.'

'Heavens,' says Minerva, and she turns slightly, looking out toward the main wing of the Hospital, though she cannot see Potter from this vantage point. 'Have you told him?'

'No,' says Poppy in a quiet voice. 'When I first started to suspect, I was sure I was simply overreacting. Seeing something that wasn't there.'

'And now? You're sure?'

'I'm sure.'

For a moment, Minerva looks lost. The lines in her face deepen. The weariness about her frame doubles. She looks older. Tired. Defeated.

Poppy understands. They had been teachers together at Hogwarts for many years. They'd seen hundreds of students come and go, and of them all, many were already dead. Many passed before their time, due to the whims of a madman; and now they were facing the same situation. How many more young, bright lives would be extinguished before their eyes?

Then Minerva straightens, strength surging back through her eyes. 'Alright,' she says. 'What do you need me to do?'

Some of the worry eases away, replaced by a faint glow of relief. Poppy smiles.

'Well,' she says. 'I still have to administer the morning potions, if you'd like to help with that?'

Minerva tilts her head and follows her out into the main wing. The room is quiet and cool, and Poppy expects to find her charges still asleep. Previous experience with Potter has indicated that he doesn't sleep well, and she's made sure to include dreamless sleeping potions in his retinue of potions in all visits since the previous year.

Her footsteps trail off, however, (Minerva's faltering just a step behind her) when she sees the two boys.

She reaches the edge of the one empty bed, and the one full one. She resists the urge to roll her eyes, annoyed at herself for forgetting about Potter's crush, annoyed for not considering that it might be reciprocated. She makes a mental note to ensure wards are placed around their beds from now on.

'Well,' says Minerva, regarding the two boys in baffled amusement. 'This was unexpected.'

The pile of tangled blankets and limbs twitches, and Poppy coughs expectantly, drawing the attention of one of the two sleeping boys.

Malfoy, half sitting in a chair and half sprawled on the side of Potter's bed, shifts, and lifts his head from where it rests on Potter's arms.

He groans, rolling his head this way and that, no doubt stretching the discomfort out of his neck after sleeping hunched over all night.

Then he catches sight of Poppy and Minerva.

He jerks upright into a sitting position, staring at them in wide-eyed horror. He yanks his hand (which Poppy now sees is curled around one of Potter's) free and scrambles to his feet, almost tripping over the blankets pooled at his feet.

'I wasn't—this isn't—I mean…Potter was having a nightmare…' he trails off, his cheeks going crimson as he realises that this explanation is still rather out of character for him.

Poppy ignores it, her eyes going to Potter with a frown. 'When did he have the nightmare?' she asks. 'Did he wake up?'

Potter rolls in his sleep, curling up further now that Malfoy has gone.

Malfoy's gaze flicks back and forth between Minerva and Poppy, wary and still mortified. 'For a moment,' he says eventually.

Poppy flicks her wand at Potter, casting various standard diagnostic spells as Malfoy and Minerva watch on. Malfoy, apparently deciding that he's not at risk of being admonished or tormented about the situation, sits on the edge of his bed.

'He's…okay. Isn't he?' he asks.

Poppy can feel another headache coming on. Minerva is watching her, gaze sharp and curious, no doubt surprised by Poppy's lack of surprise. Curious about what she knows. Suddenly Poppy regrets inviting the woman along.

She sighs and starts to answer, except Potter begins to stir. She fishes a potion out of her pocket and hands it to Malfoy.

'Drink,' she says, before focusing on Potter.

He's blinking up at the ceiling, a faint frown on his face. 'Hospital…' he mutters.

He turns his head, glancing around and pushing himself up into a sitting position. He sees Poppy and Minerva, but when he spots Malfoy, he goes still.

'Draco,' he says.

Malfoy (who has yet to drink his potion) glances up, something like relief in his eyes. 'Potter,' he says briskly.

Potter smiles. 'You're okay.'

Malfoy rolls his eyes. 'Yes, of course I'm okay. We did this bit already.'

'We did?' Potter asks.

Malfoy, glancing at Minerva and Poppy, flushes and says shortly. 'Yes. Idiot.'

Potter's smile widens. He turns to Poppy.

'So, what am I in for this time?' he asks, and though he sounds tired, there's a brightness to his tone that Poppy finds encouraging. 'And for how long?'

'As long as I deem necessary,' she says tartly. 'It's a miracle you're already up. Honestly, transforming the pitch into a lake, what in Merlin's name were you thinking?'

Potter blinks. 'Transforming what?' he stares at her, frowning, no doubt trying to recall the incident that put him in the Hospital. 'Oh. Oh…well…I guess that explains why I feel like I just got run over by a train.'

Behind her, Minerva mutters something about Potters and understanding limitations under her breath.

'You think?' Malfoy says, the contempt in his voice not quite covering up the worry. 'Actually, I take that back, because clearly you don't think.'

Potter mumbles something incoherent and ducks his head.

'What was that?' asks Malfoy.

Potter sighs, shrugs, and runs a hand through his hair. 'I said "someone had to do something."'

Malfoy rolls his eyes. 'And of course it had to be you, didn't it? Always the hero.'

Potter frowns.

'You might want to take into consideration that Potter's actions saved your life,' says Minerva tartly.

Poppy glances back at her, eyebrows raised, but refrains from pointing out the obvious. She doesn't need to.

Malfoy scoffs. 'Right. And he almost killed himself in the process. There were a thousand other things he could've done, that anyone could've done, without that ridiculous power display.'

'It's not like I did it on purpose,' Potter says to the floor. 'There wasn't really time to think. Your head was about to crack open on the ground and all.'

'So? You could've levitated me—'

'There was no guarantee that I'd catch you in time. What if I missed? What if it wasn't powerful enough? All I know, is that you were headed for the ground head first, and I was the only one who could stop it. So I did.'

'Just like that?'

Potter tilts his head. 'I don't think I could do it again. I definitely don't think I could do it at will.'

'I should think not,' says Poppy, unable to help herself from interjecting. 'Mr Malfoy is right, I don't think you realise how lucky you are, Potter. That level of magic casting can kill a grown wizard. Let alone a teenager.'

'I…' Potter trails off. He swallows and looks back at the floor. 'I didn't mean to.'

'Then why did you do it?' Malfoy says, clearly exasperated.

Potter laughs, quiet and mirthless. 'You don't know why I'd save you?' he glances up. 'You haven't been listening to me at all, have you?'

Silence falls. Potter shifts uncomfortably, running a hand through his hair and looking at anything but Malfoy. Malfoy just stares at him, his face unreadable.

'Head back, Potter,' says Poppy, breaking into the awkward silence.

Blinking up at the ceiling as Poppy performs her test, Potter says, 'Look, it's done now, okay? Can't you just say thank you like a normal person and be done with it?'

Poppy raises an eyebrow. She glances over at Minerva, unable to quell her curiosity on the other woman's reaction. Minerva, as always, is unflappable. She's hiding her interest by pretending to flick through a book she's produced from somewhere—though Poppy sees a small twitch in the corner of her mouth. Amusement, perhaps?

Malfoy, meanwhile, is glowering at Potter. His jaw clenches and he flops back onto his bed with a small growl. 'When can I go?' he asks the ceiling.

'Tomorrow,' says Poppy, somehow managing to keep the exasperation out of her voice. 'Now, you're to stay in your own beds and absolutely no magic. Especially you, Potter.'

Potter looks away but nods. Malfoy merely grunts. Poppy gestures to Minerva but before she follows Poppy out, Minerva shuts her book and glances between the two boys.

'You're assignment for care of magical creatures has been approved,' she says in that brisk, takes-no-attitude tone Poppy has always envied. 'I obviously don't need to tell you how big a responsibility this task is, but I trust that you will continue to work together to raise this creature without any incidents.'

Potter immediately perks up. 'You mean we're getting her? The Horned Serpent?'

Minerva offers him a small smile. 'You are. She'll arrive in the morning.'

Potter and Malfoy glance at each other, but whatever unspoken thing is hanging between them have them glancing away quickly, despite their obvious excitement. Poppy shakes her head.

Back in her office, Poppy waits for the inevitable question.

'So, what are you going to tell Potter?'

Poppy raises an eyebrow. 'Really?' she asks. 'You're not even curious about what happened out there?'

'What do you mean?'

'Oh please,' says Poppy, turning and flicking her wand and Potter's chart. 'Don't pretend you didn't notice. I know you better than that.'

'I admit I was surprised. But I trust you'd tell me if it were anything significant,' says Minerva, sounding amused. 'You clearly know what'a going on between them.'

Poppy snorts and summons Malfoy's file with a swift swish. 'Hardly. In all honesty I'd forgotten it was an issue in light of Potter's…' She trails off.

She doesn't want to say the words. Disease. It sounds so permanent. So final. And she's still researching the illness. Still searching for a remedy.

'What can I do?' Minerva asks again, her voice soft.

Poppy sighs. 'For now I just need information. I need to know exactly what it is we're dealing with. Then I can figure out a way to stop it.'

Minerva nods. 'I believe Albus has a rare book on Morgana's era, I'll see if I can get my hands on it. I assume you haven't told him?'

Poppy snorts again. 'Can you imagine what he'd do if I did?'

Minerva purses her lips. 'Yes, I can,' she says, and shakes her head. 'I know he cares about the boy but sometimes I wonder if he really sees him.' She straightens and gives herself a cat like shake. 'Alright, I'll see what I can dig up.'

Poppy nods. 'Oh, Minerva?' Minerva pauses in the fireplace. 'For heavens sake don't mention Potter and Malfoy to Albus. Or to Severus for that matter.'

A wicked smile spreads across the other woman's face, her eyes glittering behind her glasses. She merely offers Poppy a wink before throwing the floo powder and disappearing back to her own offices.

Poppy rolls her eyes. Well, if Minerva tells them there's nothing she can do about it and frankly Poppy has other things to worry about. Like how to keep Potter from becoming magically crippled.

Several hours later Poppy has a headache the size of an erumpent and barely any new information.

She's mapped out the pattern in Potter's symptoms (the pattern that has been niggling at the back of her mind ever since Draco Malfoy revealed the events of Diagon Alley). The magical outbursts, his lack of control, even his panic attacks, they all lead to the same thing.

Mediocris Malum.

An affliction with no cure. No remedy. No potion. Nothing that will make the disease currently riddling it's way through Potter's magic any better. Slowly but surely his condition will worsen.

She sighs and rubs at her eyes. Minerva was right. It should have been impossible. Even she had thought the illness a fairy tale. A myth. Something you told children who were misbehaving. And even if it weren't, it was a malady that only afflicted the strong. The exceptional.

Oh Potter had his talents, and the Headmaster certainly put a lot of faith in him, but exceptional? He wasn't Merlin. He wasn't even Morgana Le Fay.

Yet…yet he had transformed an entire Quidditch Pitch into water. Not just water, but a lake. with depth and terrain. It was unlike anything she had ever seen.

So she had dredged up every bit of medical knowledge she could find on the affliction. What it was. What it did. How to fix it.

Only that was the problem, wasn't it? There was no fix. Poppy rubs her head and considers, yet again, telling Albus. Maybe there was something he knew that could help?

Muffled laughter echoes out from the main wing of the Infirmary. Poppy leans back in her chair, casting a watchful eye at the mirror placed strategically in the corner of her office in order to get a better view of the main room.

Potter is sitting cross legged on the end of his bed, watching as Malfoy works on some device or other with his wand. He has a frustrated expression on his face, but he grins when Potter laughs.

'It was working yesterday,' grumbles Malfoy, stabbing his wand at the little rectangular box he's holding.

'There's no way it was working,' says Potter. 'As awesome as that would be, Hermione has told me a thousand times that Muggle technology doesn't work at Hogwarts.'

'No,' says Malfoy, yanking on a cord. 'It does work. You just have to have the right rune barrier.'

'Then why isn't there more muggle tech around?'

'Because it's time consuming,' sighs Malfoy. 'And anyway, it's not like it's anything useful.'

'That's not true,' says Potter. 'Muggles have some pretty cool stuff.'

'Like what?'

'Like that walkman for one,' laughs Potter.

Malfoy glares and throws the little box at Potter. 'How about you try making it work?'

Potter throws it back. 'I don't know the first thing about runes, and besides, I'm not allowed to use magic, remember.'

Malfoy scoffs. 'Like that's ever stopped you before.'

'You know, I think I'm starting to work it out.'

'Work what out.'

'You being a jerk. I mean, sometimes you really are just being a jerk. But sometimes I think you're really just worried.'

'What on Earth would I have to be worried about, Potter? I hope you're not implying that I actually care about what happens to you?'

'You don't?'

A momentary pause, and Malfoy looks caught, like he's not sure how to respond. 'I despise you Potter, everybody knows that.'

'Then why'd you take that bludger for me?'

'Momentary lapse in judgement.'

'Why'd you kiss me?'

'If you recall, you kissed me first. I was merely screwing with you're already screwed up head.'

'Why'd you sleep next to me all night?'

Malfoy's jaw clenches. He swings his legs over the side of the bed to glare at Potter.

'What do you want from me?' he asks.

'The truth.'

Malfoy shakes his head, glares again, and sighs. 'Fine. So maybe I was worried. Maybe I kissed you and maybe you looked more pathetic than a kicked puppy last night that I had no choice but to come keep you company lest you fell into a coma or something and they blamed me. But if you want the truth, the truth is that this is never going to work. That we're too different, and you're too—what're you—mfph.'

Potter slips off his bed, crosses the two steps between them and kisses Malfoy right in the middle of his rant. It's short, and Malfoy is clearly surprised, but Potter still smiles when he pulls away.

'I despise you too, Draco Malfoy,' he says in a soft voice and sways a little.

Poppy purses her lips. She's about to go in there and berate him about overexerting himself but without waiting for a response he turns and crawls back into his bed.

'I hate it when you do that,' Malfoy mutters.

'Kiss you?'

'…no. Surprise me. I don't like being caught off guard. And you've been catching me off guard quite a bit.'

'Sorry.'

'No you're not,' Malfoy sighs and shakes his head again.

'No, I'm not,' says Potter, and Poppy can hear the smile in his voice.

She sighs and shuts off the mirror with a wave of her wand. There was no harm in letting the boy be happy another day. After all, if she's right, he's got a long struggle ahead of him.

 **A/N:** Phew, that was a struggle. My health issue has gotten worse so it's been a bit difficult to get to the keyboard. I've definitely not stopped this story though, I just have to slow down unfortunately. I still hope to aim for once a week updates but with the way things are that may not happen so I hope you'll be patient with me. I'm really enjoying writing this story, and there's still a lot to go.


	28. Confessions

**A/N:** I'd like to thank everyone for the support regarding my health and your patience with my slow updates, I really, _really_ appreciate it. I am still here, and I am still working on this story, albeit much slower than I'd like, but I hope you're enjoying the story enough to stick with me. I'm really enjoying writing it and I love being able to share it with you guys.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Eight

 _Confessions_

 ** _Dean:_**

The problem begins with a rumour. Doesn't it always? Hogwarts is full of rumours, but for the most part Dean ignores them. They don't concern him and even when they concern his friends, most of the time the rumours are a load of bull that he can easily dismiss.

That's what he does when he first hears _The_ rumour. The one that changes everything. The one that ruins his relationship.

He's heading back to Gryffindor tower after lunch one Saturday, three weekends before Christmas holidays when he hears Ginny's name. His footsteps slow automatically, wondering if he needs to crack someone's head for talking shit about his girlfriend, when he hears Harry's name too, and comes to a stop.

'—Ginny Weasley dating Harry Potter?'

'Really? Isn't she dating someone else?'

'Guess not. She and Potter have been making out in closets all week.'

Dean blinks, his mouth falling open as the words register in his mind.

'I heard she sat by his bed all weekend after that Quidditch accident.'

'Oh how insane was _that_? Potter must be scary powerful. He's so hot. I wish he would date _me_.'

'Fat chance.'

'Hmph. What's so good about Ginny Weasley anyway? She's a _ginger_.'

Irritation burns along Deans spine, and he storms toward the two girls. Rumours claiming Harry is dating someone new are a knut a dozen—and _never_ true (the boy is basically a hermit)—but now they're just insulting his girl.

'Well for starters, she jumped into that lake to rescue him. That's pretty brave. _And_ romantic.'

'Um, excuse me,' says Dean, interrupting the girls before the conversation can continue any further. 'Do you mind maybe _not_ spreading false rumours about my girlfriend?'

The two girls blink, looking him up and down with affronted expressions.

'Do you mind not eavesdropping on our conversation?' One of them retorts, raising one eyebrow in disdain.

Dean resists the urge to roll his eyes. 'Yeah, I do,' he says. 'Especially when you're talking loud enough for people down the next corridor to hear. About _my_ girlfriend.'

The other girl, the one who hasn't spoken, sighs heavily and rolls her eyes. 'Well we weren't talking about your girlfriend.'

'Yeah,' he says, getting supremely annoyed—especially as he's just noticed these girls are from his own house. 'Ginny Weasley? _I'm_ her boyfriend. Not Harry.'

The girls exchange covetous glances that Dean does _not_ like the look of.

'So…Harry's still free, then? I mean, he's _available_?'

Dean frowns at them. 'Uh, yeah. I guess.'

Immediately, the two girls erupt into giggles. 'Thanks!' they say, and take off down the hall.

Dean shakes his head. He feels momentarily bad for Harry and whatever hell he's just unleashed on him, but then he remembers that the alternative was two gossips spreading rumours about _his_ girlfriend.

He shakes his head and grins to himself. 'Sorry Harry,' he mutters under his breath, and continues on his way.

Two days later Dean is about ready to punch the next person he hears discussing Harry and Ginny's supposed "new relationship". It seems to be all anyone can talk about. How she dove into the unknown depths of Potter's stupid conjured lake to rescue the overpowered idiot. How she sat with him for hours, which, yes okay, she _did_ sit with him a bit but so did Looney Lovegood and Ron and Hermione—hell even _Malfoy_ was there and no body was talking about _that_ (it didn't matter to Dean that he was merely there doing homework).

Dean sits fuming by the fireplace, put out by yet another overheard bit of gossip about Ginny disappearing into a closet with Potter and tries to convince himself it doesn't bother him. It doesn't. Really. After all, Ginny is great. Sure, Ron might be pissed about Dean seeing her, but so far (so long as Dean makes sure not to mention it in front of him) he's been pretty cool about it. And yeah, so she's a stronger flier than him, and she jumped into that lake without even _thinking_ of the danger, but that's what makes her so awesome. She's strong and independent and that's great, really, except…except she's his _girlfriend_ , and he wants to be able to do stuff for her. Open doors, carry her bags, hell he'd even be happy with a picnic or afternoon stroll. But Ginny doesn't seem to want to do _any_ of those things.

'It's like she doesn't want me to treat her nicely,' he complains to Seamus.

'Well, she does have six older brothers,' offers Seamus. 'It's no surprise she can handle herself.'

'I _know_ that,' says Dean, rolling his eyes. 'But, I mean, she doesn't _have_ to. I mean, doesn't she want someone to take care of her every now and then? Is it so horrible?'

Seamus shrugs. 'I dunno mate, you're talking to the wrong guy.'

Dean sighs and slouches back in his chair. Laughter from across the room catches his attention. Lavender is all but sitting in Ron's lap. They were snogging a few moments ago, but they seem to have taken a momentary break for air. Lavender is laughing at something Ron has said. Across from them, Hermione looks on in disgust.

Harry is there too, and Dean glowers at the boy.

'It's all his fault.'

He doesn't realise he's spoken the words aloud until Seamus replies. 'Whose fault?' he asks, looking up from the essay he's working on and following Dean's gaze. 'Ah,' he says, catching sight of Harry. 'Is that really fair though?'

Dean shoots his friend a frustrated glare and Seamus puts his hands up in surrender.

'Hey, I'm just saying,' he says. 'Remember what happened last time we believed rumours about Harry—Sorry, last time _I_ believed them. It's not like he can control what people say about him.'

'I know,' sighs Dean. 'It's just…I'm over it.'

'Over what?'

Dean jumps, looking up into the curious, smiling face of one Ginny Weasley with a vaguely guilty expression. 'Just, you know…school in general.'

She grins at him, and he feels a slight wave of relief. She wouldn't be so relaxed if she'd overheard his complaining. He scoots over, making room for her on the seat next to him, but a call from across the room calls her attention away.

'Ginny!'

Dean scowls. _Potter_ is making his way toward them.

'Hey,' she says, her smile brightening. 'Finally out of the Hospital Wing, eh? How does freedom feel?'

He shrugs at her, stuffing his hands into his pockets. 'Alright I guess,' he says. 'Say, can I talk to you for a minute? Upstairs?'

Dean grits his teeth, but manages to bite his tongue.

Ginny raises her eyebrows. A cheeky grin flashes across her face. 'Again, Harry? My, my,' she says teasingly.

Harry shoots her a mock glare, face flushing red. 'Oh, shut up. Are you coming or not?'

She laughs. 'Of course I am,' she says and gestures toward the staircase. 'Lead the way.'

Harry rolls his eyes and stomps off up the stairs.

Ginny makes to follow him. 'Oh,' she says, turning abruptly and leaning over to place a quick kiss on Dean's cheek. 'Back in a minute,' she says brightly before disappearing up the stairwell.

Dean bristles. 'I just don't get it,' he scowls. 'If nothings going on then why the hell are they hanging out so much? They never have before.'

Seamus winces. 'I dunno mate.'

Dean glares up the staircase. He shakes his head. 'I'm going up there,' he says, pushing up from the desk.

'Are you sure that's a good idea?' says Seamus, eyes going wide. 'I mean, you don't _really_ think there's anything going on, do you?'

Dean pauses. 'No,' he says. 'But I can't just sit here while Potter's off having secret conversations with _my_ girlfriend. Not when the whole school thinks they're together.'

Seamus still looks doubtful, and the uncertainty bubbling in Dean's gut increases with step toward the dorms. He hesitates just outside the door, shuffling his weight from foot to foot.

Maybe Seamus is right. Maybe he's just overreacting?

'—getting a bit bold, aren't we?' says Ginny in a teasing tone. 'How many times is this now?'

Potter mutters something in response that Dean can't hear, and, despite himself, he leans into the door, straining his ears to listen.

Ginny laughs. 'Understatement, isn't it? Well, when are we making this official?'

'Official?' Harry says, his voice choking. 'I hardly think we're ready for _that_.'

'Really? Because I'd have assumed that with all the snogging…'

At the word snogging, blood rushes in Dean's ears. Heat surges up his spine and his fists clench. No way. There's no _way_.

'Ginny,' Harry protests. 'God you make it sound like we're together all the time.'

'Well…'

'Stop it. It's hard enough as it is without talk of making anything _official_. For starters I'm pretty sure Ron would murder me.'

'Oh forget Ron,' says Ginny, dismissively. 'He'll come around.'

'Oh yes, I'm sure he'll be _completely_ fine with—'

Dean can't listen to anymore. He grabs the door handle and barges into the room, cutting off any further conversation between the two.

Ginny and Potter both turn, matching startled expressions on their faces. Dean can't _stand_ it.

'Dean?' asks Ginny, concern flashing over her face.

'You know,' says Dean through clenched teeth. 'I tried. I really did. I told myself it wasn't true. That they were just rumours.' He shakes his head. 'Did you really think you could get away with this?'

Potter's eyes go wide, his face paling as he realises that Dean knows.

Ginny is calmer. 'Dean,' she says, her voice cautious. 'What're you talking about? What did you hear?'

'Enough to know that I was wrong,' spits Dean. 'About you, about _Potter_. Did you really think no one would find out? Did you really think this was _okay_?'

Ginny frowns, glancing back at bloody Potter with a concerned frown. 'Dean, don't you think you're overreacting a little?'

' _Overreacting_? I'm _overreacting_? You're _cheating_ on me!'

'I— _what_?' Ginny gapes at him.

Potter, finally, manages to say something. 'Hang on, cheating? Ginny's not cheating on you.'

'Oh really? And all that talk about you two snogging?' asks Dean. 'You've been _seen_ you know. All week I've had to listen to people go on and on about how _cute_ you two fucking look. And like an _idiot_ I told them they were wrong. That Ginny is _my_ girlfriend, and all the while you two have been…have been...'

'Have been _what_ , exactly?' Ginny asks and if Dean wasn't so furious he'd see the warning signs.

He'd see the angry flush to her skin, hear the fury in her voice, the outrage and indignity that might have alerted him to the fact that his accusations might be false.

'Wait a second, you think that Ginny and _I_ are…are…what _together_?' asks Potter, staring at Dean in stunned disbelief. 'Jesus Dean, that's not…God believe me there is _nothing_ going on between me and Ginny.'

'Oh yeah? Then what was all that talk just now about snogging, huh?'

'That was—'

'None of your bloody business,' says Ginny, cutting Potter off. 'Merlin, I can't _believe_ you. You're supposed to be my boyfriend.'

'You're supposed to be my girlfriend!' Dean shouts. 'You're supposed to be with me, not gallivanting around with another guy in bloody closets!'

'Ex- _cuse_ me?' Ginny snarls.

Potter gapes at him and then, to Deans furious surprise, he starts to laugh. Ginny shoots him a glare.

'Harry,' she says warningly.

Potter shakes his head. 'Sorry,' he says. 'Look, yeah, we went into a closet. But it's not what you think. I needed help with something, that's all.'

'You needed help? In a closet? Am I really supposed to believe that? What the hell would you need help with in a bloody _closet_?'

'Harry,' Ginny warns again, but the boy is already laughing.

Later, after it's all blown over, Dean will realise how morbidly morose that laugh was. How dark and completely mirthless it was. Now though, now all Dean can hear is the blood roaring in his ears as Potter's stupid laugh echoes in his head, mocking him.

'Oh,' says Potter, still with that weird chuckle. 'You have _no_ idea.'

'You really are an arrogant, self-entered—!'

'You're the arrogant one!' Ginny yells. 'God, I can't believe you're actually accusing me of _cheating_ on you! Do you really think I would stoop so low? You think that little of me?'

Dean fumbles for a moment. He crosses his arms. Uncrosses them. Flushes. Stares back at Ginny in a mixture of defiance and embarrassment.

'I…well I didn't want to. I told you didn't I? I've been telling everyone all week that it isn't true! But now…'

'Now _what_?' Ginny asks, steam practically coming out of her ears. 'What exactly have I done to convince you that this _ridiculous_ accusation is true?'

'You were just talking about snogging each other!'

'No we weren't!' Ginny snaps again. 'And if you respected me at all you'd believe me!'

'If you respected _me_ at all, you'd tell me why the hell you two have to hang out so much!'

'Jesus because we're friends, Dean!'

He shakes his head. 'No. No I'm sick of it. I'm tired of everyone talking about what a cute couple you are.'

'Jesus,' Potter says and scrubs a hand through his hair. 'Dean, trust me, there is _nothing_ going on. She not even my type. At _all_.'

'You're supposed to be my girlfriend,' Dean says again, refusing to listen to anything _Potter_ has to say.

'Well you can relax,' says Ginny, glowering. 'Because that's not something you'll have to worry about anymore.'

Dean stares at her, fury and outrage making him sputter. Did she…did she just _break up_ him?

'What do you mean?' says Potter, looking back and forth between Ginny and Dean. 'You're not, you're not breaking up, are you?'

'You're choosing him over me?' asks Dean, shaking his head. He laughs mirthlessly. 'Of course you are. Why wouldn't you. He's Harry freaking Potter.'

'Wait, hang on, just…just hang on,' says Potter, panic in his voice. 'You're not breaking up.'

'Of course we are,' says Ginny, her eyes flashing. 'I certainly won't be with someone who thinks I'm capable of _cheating_.'

Dean shakes his head in disgust. 'Fine, whatever,' he says and spins around, stomping for the door. 'I hope you're happy together.'

'Dean, wait,' says Potter. 'There's nothing going on, I swear. Dean…We're not…I'm not...for fucks sake, I'm _gay_!'

Stunned silence follows. Well, for a moment. Then Ron—standing frozen in the half open doorway with his hand still on the handle—says in shocked disbelief,

'You're _what_?'


	29. Overreactions

Chapter Twenty-Nine

 _Overreactions_

 ** _Ron:_**

'…for fucks sake, I'm _gay_!'

Ron freezes halfway through the act of opening the dorm door. For a moment he thinks it's Dean whose shouted the words. Partly because he's the first person Ron sees but also because the idea that his best friend likes _blokes_ is…is…well it's just…

'You're _what_?'

He doesn't even register the words as his, barely even registers the state of the room, he's too busy trying to process what he's just heard. Trying to reconcile it with the look of absolute horror that's spreading across his best friends face.

For a moment the entire room is still.

Only for a moment, though.

'Ron, close the damn door!'

Ron does, the the action is more of a reflex than a conscious decision. Ginny's words are whip-crack sharp and so like their mother's that it breaks though the haze descending on Ron's mind. He hadn't even realised that Ginny was in the room until she spoke.

'Wait,' says Dean ignoring Ron and turning to look at Harry. 'if you're—if you're _gay_ , why were you two talking about snogging.'

The word "snogging" almost sends Ron's mind into a panic. Harry looks like he's going to throw up.

'Jesus Dean, we weren't talking about _us_ ,' says Ginny, her voice biting cold.

'O-oh…so you're not—you're not together, then?' says Dean.

Ron stares at him. 'Wait… _what_?'

'No,' says Ginny. 'There's _nothing_ going on with me and Harry. Like I _said_.'

'Because he's...' Dean glances back and forth between Harry and Ginny, and swallows. 'Oh.'

'But...' says Ron, gaping at them. It's all just too much. Dean saying Ginny and Harry are together. Harry saying he's…he's… 'But what about Cho?'

'Really, Ron? _Cho_?' asks Ginny, rolling her eyes. 'I hardly think _that_ counts.'

The confusion in Ron's mind solidifies into irritation at his sister. 'Oh really? Well she was a _girl_ , and they kissed, so I think that _does_ sort of count. So he can't be…can't be…'

'Gay?' asks Ginny, her gaze narrowing at him, her face getting that dangerous glint their mother's did whenever she was angry. 'Merlin Ron, it's just a word.'

'I know that!'

'Then what's the bloody problem?'

'I just…he likes _girls_!'

'Obviously he doesn't!'

Ron shakes his head. 'No, no this doesn't make any sense. Harry, mate, what about…what about Cho? You liked her didn't you?'

Harry blinks, and there's a strange sort of desperation that crosses his face. It's an expression Ron doesn't understand, especially since so far all he's done is stare at Ron as if he's just started vomiting slugs all over again.

'I'm not…I don't…' Harry trails off, and he sits down hard on the edge of his bed.

'Harry? You alright?' asks Ginny, taking a step toward him.

His breathing is shallow. He starts to nod, then stops, shakes his head twice and covers his face, mumbling something under his breath. Alarm fills Ginny's face and she reaches out for him.

'What?' asks Ron, the worry piercing through the confusion in his brain. 'What's wrong with him?'

'There's nothing _wrong_ with him Ron,' Ginny snaps, shooting a glare back at him as she hovers over Harry's shoulder.

Harry brushes her off, shaking his head. 'I'm okay,' he says, his voice raspy.

'Are you sure? I can get you your bag—'

'I'm fine,' says Harry, cutting her off sharply.

He glances up at Ron and Dean, and Ginny goes quiet, flicking them a quick look before nodding back at Harry. Ron frowns, and heat flushes up his neck.

'So you're really gay then?' he asks, crossing his arms and staring hard at Hary.

'Uh…yeah,' says Harry, and his shoulders droop.

Irritation starts to swarm up Ron's spine. 'And all that with Cho? What was that?'

Harry frowns at the floor and shrugs half heartedly. 'A mistake?' he offers. 'I dunno. I dunno what to say. I'm just…things are…different.'

'Yeah,' says Ron, and his voice comes out harder than he intends. 'I guess they are.'

Harry winces but still, he won't even _look_ at Ron.

Ginny takes a step toward him, leaning forwards to hiss, 'What is wrong with you?'

'Me?' he asks, his voice loud in his sudden anger. 'What's wrong with _me_? How about what's wrong with you? And with him?'

'There's _nothing_ wrong with him, Ron! Why are you being like this?'

'Maybe because my _best mate_ is keeping secrets from me. Again! How long have you known about this?'

'Oh for heavens sake, _that's_ what this is about?' asks Ginny, and she laughs harshly. 'You're jealous?'

Ron's fists ball up. 'I'm not jealous!'

'You sound pretty bloody jealous to me,' says Ginny. 'How about you stop being such a _child—'_

'How about you butt your nose out of something that's none of your damn business!'

'Stop it! Both of you!' Harry says, standing back up. 'Look, Ron—'

He reaches out to grab at him, but Ron jerks back. Hurt flashes across Harry's face, and his hand drops back down. A momentary surge of guilt sweeps through Ron, but then Ginny moves to stand next to Harry, crossing her arms and glaring at Ron and blood rushes through his ears.

'How long has this been going on?' Ron asks, gesturing at Harry and Ginny.

'God Ron—'

'Since Halloween,' says Harry, his voice low.

'Halloween? _Halloween_? That was weeks ago! You've known that you're—that you—why didn't you tell me? Why did you tell _her_?'

Harry runs a hand through his hair, agitation written all over his features. His eyes dart around the room and he shrugs.

'I…I don't know, okay?'

'You don't know?' Ron scoffs. 'But you knew you could tell Ginny?'

Ginny scowls and opens her mouth to no doubt start shouting, but Harry shoots her a sharp look and she falls quiet. He turns back to Ron and says darkly,

'I guess I was just worried about how well you'd take it.'

'Oh so it's my fault? It's my fault you can never tell the _truth_! You know I've backed you up, over and over! I've been there for you, and you _always_ do this. You always leave me in the dark!'

'I'm sorry!' Harry shouts, and there's more than just anger in his voice, but Ron can't focus on it, he can't focus on anything except the fact that Harry was once again keeping things from him. 'I'm sorry I told Ginny and not you. I'm sorry you found out this way. But I can't help it, Ron! This hasn't exactly been easy for me to deal with you know!'

'Maybe it would've been easier to deal with if you'd been honest with your best friends! Unless you don't trust us anymore? Is that it? You think we can't keep your stupid little secrets?'

The door bursts opens before Harry can shout anything back and Hermione walks in, her eyes wide in that way she gets when she's both worried and frustrated.

'What in the world is going on in here?'

Dean steps in behind her and quickly shuts the door, and Ron's head swims for a moment, not having realised that Dean had even left the room.

There's a moment of quiet before Harry scowls and says, 'Nothing.'

Ron laughs. 'Sure, other than the fact that you're keeping secrets.'

'Ron, bloody hell, it's not—' Ginny cuts off, shaking her head.

'Secrets?' Hermione frowns, glancing back and forth between

'Yeah, apparently Harry's gay.'

'Ron!' Ginny gasps.

Ron tries not to wince. Almost as soon as the words are out of his mouth he regrets them, but it's too late to take them back.

Harry is staring at him in a mixture of disbelief and betrayal. Why does _he_ feel betrayed? Ron's the one who has been kept in the dark. Again.

'I can trust you to keep my secrets, can I?' Harry asks, voice dangerously quiet, and Ron is about to retort when he realises that Harry is blinking back tears. 'Thanks for your support, Ron. You're a great friend.'

His voice is thick and hurt and it hits Ron like a physical blow. Harder than when Harry brushes passed him, pushing out of the room.

'Harry, wait,' says Hermione, but he's already gone.

Ginny turns to Ron, fury written all over her face. 'You are unbelievable,' she says, shaking her head.

'What?' says Ron, still frustrated and confused and—damnit, _he's_ the one whose hurt! 'It's just Hermione, it's not like she's going to tell anyone.'

'No, we can all count on _you_ to do that,' Ginny snarls. 'You know, this is _exactly_ why he didn't tell you.'

'Oh come off it!' says Ron. 'It's not that big a deal.'

'Yes, Ron, it is,' says Hermione, shaking her head. 'Honestly, sometimes you can be so dense.'

' _Me_?' Ron snaps, 'He's the one who—'

'Yes, he kept it from us,' says Hermione, cutting him off with that calm-but-exasperated tone of voice she did so well. 'But did you stop to think that maybe there was a _reason_ for that?'

' _What_ reason?' asks Ron incredulously. 'Why would he keep something like this from us?'

'Seriously?' Dean asks.

Ron startles. Once again, he's forgotten Dean is there. The boy stands over by the door, looking extremely uncomfortable with being there. Still, he stares at Ron in incredulity.

'Yeah,' says Ron, crossing his arms. 'Seriously.'

'Well…I mean, _I_ sure as hell wouldn't want anyone knowing that I liked blokes. You know, if I was. Not that I do, mind you.'

Ginny rolls her eyes. 'Trust me, no one cares,' she mutters.

'Because,' says Hermione, her patient tone quelling any further bickering. 'Being gay in the muggle world isn't the same as being gay in the wizarding world. People here don't really care. Or if they do they just ignore it. There isn't really much prejudice about it. It's not like that in the muggle world. Muggles…react badly, to gays. They get called names, bullied, discriminated against, _attacked_.'

Ron blanches. 'Attacked?'

Hermione nods. 'Sometimes.'

'Kind of like what _you_ just did,' Ginny mutters, her arms still crossed.

'Actually,' says Dean. 'It's usually worse than that. My Uncle got beaten so badly he had to go to hospital.'

In the sudden quiet, an unpleasant churning fills Ron's stomach.

'Hospital?' Ginny asks weakly, her face pale.

Hermione nods. 'It's awful. It happens more than you'd think. And that's not even the worst.'

'What's _worse_?' asks Ron.

Hermione shrugs. 'He probably feels ashamed.'

'Ashamed?' asks Ron, flabbergasted. 'Why?'

'Well I dunno,' says Ginny, finding her voice again. 'When your friends take it so well, what's there to be ashamed of?'

'I didn't—that's not…look I might've been _surprised_ ,' says Ron, flushing hotly. 'But I didn't mean there was anything _wrong_ with, with, with—'

'With being gay?' asks Ginny, raising her eyebrows.

'Exactly!'

'Ron,' says Hermione softly, gently. 'How do you expect him to feel when you can't even say the word?'

'I—' Ron starts to object, cuts himself off and swears. Then he swears again. 'I didn't…I didn't _know_. I didn't mean to…'

Hermione steps forward and touches his arm. 'I know, Ron. I know you didn't. But the problem is that you did.'

'I just…I was just surprised, that's all,' says Ron, knowing the words aren't enough even as he says them. 'I didn't understand why he hadn't told us.'

Harry's words come back to him then. _"This hasn't exactly been easy for me to deal with you know!"_

His shoulders droop and he scuffs at the floor with the toe of one boot.

'He would have,' says Hermione. 'You know that, right? When he was ready, he'd have told us.'

Ron frowns, his guilt making him feel uncomfortable. Squirmy. 'What am I going to do?'

'Make it right,' says Hermione. 'Find him and apologise.'

'And don't tell anyone else in the process,' adds Ginny, her tone still cold. 'This secret doesn't leave this room. Not until _Harry_ is ready to tell it himself.'

Ron nods, frustrated at being chastised by his baby sister but knowing he deserves it. That is, until he glances up and sees her glaring at Dean.

Dean's expression sours. 'You really think I'd say something?'

'Well you did accuse me of cheating on you,' she says.

Ron blinks. 'Hang on—'

Hermione nudges him. 'Come on,' she says. 'Let's go find Harry.'

'But—'

'They clearly need to talk,' says Hermione. 'Let's go find Harry.'


	30. Cold Heat

Chapter Thirty

 _Cold Heat_

 ** _Draco:_**

The air is cool and crisp and has Draco sighing heavily into the collar of his coat as he makes the long trudge down to the Quidditch Pitch.

'What's wrong with you this fine winter afternoon?' Blaise asks, his voice entirely too cheerful for Draco's liking.

'Fine?' grumbles Draco, yanking his coat tighter over his Quidditch gear. 'It's bloody freezing.'

Blaise chuckles. 'Don't be do dull, Draco, it's marvellous weather for flying.'

Draco scoffs, shooting Blaise a sideways scowl. If he had it his way, he'd rather be back inside beside the fire. Hell he'd rather be in the library, sitting next to—

'Blimey whose that?'

Out of reflex, Draco glances up, dragging his thoughts away from libraries and fires and the warmth of someone sitting close—

He stops short, staring at the small figure darting back and forth across the sky in the distance above the Quidditch pitch. The figure turns sharply, catapulting into a nose dive that knocks the wind out of Draco's lungs. He stares in numb disbelief, knowing there's only one person who can fly like that and wondering what the bloody hell the idiot is thinking.

Fury sends a rush of heat through Draco's limbs and a moment letter he's storming down the last of the hill, leaving his teammates to gawk at the spectacle Potter is currently putting on. Potter, who was still in the Hospital Wing only this morning.

Draco, too, watches as he walks. He understands his teammates awe (Potter has always been an exceptional flier), this ariel display is on an entirely different level to the usual style of flying in school Quidditch. Potter weaves through the sky like he was born there, dipping and diving and twisting and turning through the currents of air with an ease that looks simple and graceful.

Draco's scowl only deepens. He pushes through the locker rooms, discarding his coat on one of the benches without looking, his grip tight around his broom as he storms out onto the pitch itself to look up at Potter.

The rest of his team trickle out behind him.

'Bloody hell, I wish I could fly like that,' says Blaise from next to Draco, staring up at Potter.

'No, you don't,' snaps Draco. 'He's being an idiot.'

'Oh?' says Blaise, and Draco can hear the blatant curiosity in his voice.

He ignores it and flicks his wand out from its hiding place in his sleeve, sending up a flare out of the way but where he's sure Potter will see it. That is, if he's paying attention to anything other than the reckless flying he's doing.

Draco can see it. The overly sharp twists, the sudden turns. There's skilful flying and then there's just being a moron…honestly, after spending the last several days in the Hospital Wing, Potter should know better.

Bright sparks of red flash across the sky in Potter's current path and he comes to an abrupt stop mid-air, slamming on the brakes in an entirely too forceful manner. His head swivels, and then pins on them down below.

Draco stares back up at him, unable to see his face but imagining the expression there. The tight expression of anger and frustration fuelling Potter's mad-dash across the sky. It's the only explanation for the complete lack of regard to his own safety.

Except, when Potter lands before them (a windswept mess), there is no anger or frustration in his face. Only a burning intensity that Draco can't read.

Thrown, Draco's words come out biting and cold. 'Sorry to interrupt your attempt at suicide, Potter,' he says. 'but we've got the pitch booked for practice.'

He clenches his jaw, irritated at himself almost as soon as the words are out. Still, Potter's face barely twitches at his tone and Draco can't stop the unbidden memory of him laying in the Hospital bed from flashing across his mind. He clenches his fist, seized by the sudden desire to grab Potter by the shoulders and shake him.

Potter blinks. 'It's all yours,' he mutters.

The flat tone to Potter's voice is a stark contrast to that unreadable expression burning in his eyes and Draco falters, unable to think of a suitable reply.

Still, as Potter pushes through (shoving in between Draco's teammates instead of walking around), he glances sideways at Draco and for a moment that burning look intensifies into something heavy and hungry. Draco's mouth goes dry and his palms start to sweat.

'Well that was odd,' says Blaise, staring after Potter's retreating back. 'What's got him so wound up you think?'

Draco swallows against the sudden lump in his throat, trying to shake off the unsettled feeling that's crept over him. 'Who bloody knows,' he mutters and tries to resist the urge to stuff his hands under his armpits. 'Are we having practice or not?'

'Well we might,' says Urquhart, annoyance in his voice. 'Except apparently Potter's taken off with the snitch.'

He's leaning over the equipment box and, as Draco tears his gaze away from Potter (disappearing into the lockers) he sees that, yes, the snitch is indeed missing.

'Well I'm sure Draco will go fetch it,' says Blaise gaily, grinning brightly at Draco. 'Won't you?'

Draco glares. 'Why the bloody hell should I?'

'You _are_ the seeker, aren't you? And the rest of us don't need the snitch to get started. Besides, aren't you and Potter good ol' pals now?'

Draco rolls his eyes, 'Fuck off,' he says.

Urquhart sighs and stands up, eyeing Draco critically. 'Zabini's got a point. We can start practice without you, but there's no point you being here if we don't have the snitch.'

'So what, you want me to leave?' Draco snaps, though inside he's rather hopeful that Urquhart will say yes.

He's bloody cold damnit, and if they don't start moving soon he's going to freeze over. Besides, Potter's stupid antics in the air have irritated him. Surely Pomfrey hasn't approved him for flying yet? Three days ago the stupid sod could barely stand up let alone operate a broom in mid-air.

'No,' says Urquhart. 'But, well, you _are_ partners with him. Couldn't you get him to give it back? Preferably without a fight. I'd rather us not lose more house points.'

Draco sighs heavily. 'Whatever,' he mutters. 'But you lot owe me.'

He ignores the smug look on Blaise's face—he'll decide how to punish the irritable sod later—and stomps through the grass after Potter.

He props his broom against the inside of the door, stuffs his numb fingers into the shallow pockets of his quidditch trousers and goes in search of the idiotic Gryffindor.

Draco finds him by the change rooms, hanging up a coat on a peg.

'You should take more care with your things,' says Potter in that same flat tone, not bothering to turn around.

Draco blinks. Then he realises it's _his_ coat Potter is hanging up.

'I'll do what I want with my things, thank you Potter,' says Draco, almost on reflex.

He can't help it. For six years he's watched Potter—hell for two months they've spent more time together than Draco has ever spent with anyone else—yet Draco has never seen him like this; and he reacts on instinct, pulling his guard up before realising he's even done it, unsure of this new version of Potter.

Potter turns around. 'Oh?' he says, and there's a slight challenge in his voice.

The hunger is still there in Potter's eyes, but there's something else, something that makes Potter tense as a coiled spring. Something that makes Draco wary.

'Look,' he says, crossing his arms. 'I don't have time for whatever game you're playing. I need the snitch.'

Potter cocks his head. He reaches into his pocket, pulls out the little golden ball and considers it.

'What will you give me for it?' he asks, his gaze flickering over to Draco.

'Give you?'

Potter nods. 'Well, like you said. I can do what I like with my things. And right now, this snitch is mine. Why should I give it to you?'

Draco frowns. 'Because we have the pitch booked for practice. And I need it.'

Potter shrugs and leans back against the wall. 'That doesn't really affect me.'

Draco has a strange sensation of their roles being reversed. For the last several weeks, it's been Potter asking _him_ for what he wants and Draco being the aloof, reluctant one. Now, he struggles to find a response to this sharp eyed creature that's replaced the normally compliant Gryffindor.

He grits his teeth. 'I could just take it,' he says, but his words don't have the sting that they used to and he realises, he really doesn't want to fight.

Not since the Quidditch match. Not since Potter turned the entire pitch into a lake to save him. Not since he spent a night half sprawled over Potter's arm.

Something changes in Potter's expression. The intensity returns and he straightens up, staring at Draco with those burning green eyes.

'Oh?' he says again, and that flat tone shifts into something _almost_ like eagerness. 'Then come and get it.'

Draco takes a step forward, then hesitates. 'Why are you doing this?' he asks, frowning at Potter. At Harry. 'What's going on?'

'What makes you think there's something going on?'

Draco raises an eyebrow. 'Well, I know that you're not one for following rules, but even _you_ have to admit that was pretty dangerous flying out there.'

'So?'

'So, I'm not an idiot. Something's obviously got you in a twist,' says Draco, rolling his eyes. 'Did something happen when you got back to Gryffindor tower?'

Potter's jaw clenches. He's not as good as Draco is at hiding his emotions, and Draco knows that he's found the trigger. That if he keeps pushing at it, Potter will crack, and things will slip out from beneath the mask. But one look at the hurt lingering just beneath the surface of that blank expression and Draco finds that he doesn't really want to.

So he gives in. He does exactly what Potter wants him to. What he's _been_ wanting him too. He closes the distance between them and kisses him.

Potter makes a small noise in the back of his throat. Fingers dig in at Draco's waist and before he has a chance to even think about what he's doing, Potter is shoving him against the wall. Hard. Draco grunts, shooting Potter a sharp glare before yanking him back for another kiss. Potter presses in close. His hands are in Draco's hair, his breath hot on his neck chasing away the cold and the confusion and the doubt. He's deliciously warm, and, despite his usual need to be in control, finds that he's okay with Potter taking the lead this time. He's _more_ than okay with it.

His mind jumps back to the fight in the hallway, where he'd snogged Potter against the hallway wall much like this. Sure they'd kissed since then, but not with the same fervour, and Merlin, Draco hadn't realised how badly he'd wanted to do it again until this moment.

'So,' Potter whispers, dropping kisses along Draco's jaw to whisper in his ear. 'Is that a yes?'

Draco groans. 'Do we have to discuss this now?'

Potter grins at him, and it's feral and wild and heat pools at the base of Draco's spine.

'No,' Potter says, and kisses him again. 'This is enough.'

Except it's not enough. Draco knows it's not. He knows that Potter wants more than this. Has been quietly hoping for days, weeks even, that Draco will change his mind. That he'll give in to these secret little moments and agree to "take a chance."

He pulls away. 'Much as I'm enjoying this,' he says, annoyed at himself (because he _is_ enjoying it). 'I better get back to practice before they come looking for me.'

Potter— _Harry_ —sighs and rests his chin on Draco's shoulder. 'Stay a bit longer,' he murmurs, and kisses Draco's neck. 'Please.'

Draco lets his head fall back against the wall with a thud, trying to make himself stay focused. Potter's back is taut under Draco's hands, the tension coming off him in waves.

'Just a bit longer,' Harry asks— _pleads_ —again, hands tightening around Draco's waist and never before has Draco wanted to ditch out on anything more than he wants to ditch out on Quidditch practice right now.

'Okay,' he says, and feels some of the tension bleed out of Harry. 'But only if you tell me what's going on.'

Harry's jaw clenches. He looks away and sighs.

'Nothing is going on,' he says.

Draco pushes him back, making Harry meet his gaze. 'I thought you said you wouldn't lie.'

Harry swallows, gaze dropping to the floor. 'I don't want to talk about it,' he says, and looks back up at Draco. 'I just want to forget it happened.'

Draco's frown only deepens. 'Alright,' he says, though he's not happy about it. 'As long as you're okay?'

A small smile quirks Harry's lips. He leans forward and presses a kiss to the corner of Draco's mouth. A kiss so soft (after the roughness of what they've just done) it makes Draco's knees go weak.

Merlin, when did he become such a _girl_?

'See,' says Potter against his lips. 'I knew you cared.'

Draco rolls his eyes. 'Oh, shut up,' he says, and pulls him back in.

A few intense snogs later and Draco pulls away again. 'I really should go,' he says reluctantly. 'They really will come looking.'

Harry groans, but it's more theatrical than anything else. 'I suppose,' he says.

He steps away, but Draco catches his arm. ' _Are_ you okay? Really?'

Harry's expression softens. The intensity, the reckless anger driving him, is gone and there's a calmness to his eyes now. He offers Draco a small smile.

'I am now,' he says, and squeezes Draco's arm. 'You better get out there.'

He turns and trudges out toward the castle side exit and Draco watches him go. Emotions swirl through him. Confusion, irritation, worry, arousal.

He rolls his eyes and tries to shake away the disconcerting feelings. He doesn't succeed. As he heads back out into the cold, collecting the snitch from the floor and his broom from the door, he feels every spot where Potter touched him like a firebrand burning hot along his skin.

Merlin, what the hell was Potter doing to him?


	31. It’s A Boy Thing

Chapter Thirty-One

 _It's A Boy Thing_

 ** _Hermione:_**

Harry stands on the threshold of the Entrance Hall, guarded gaze jumping back and forth between Hermione and Ron.

Beside her, Ron shifts his weight from foot to foot, chewing the inside of his mouth, his hands jammed into his pockets. Hermione shoots him a glare that he (of course) doesn't notice. Then she jams her elbow into his ribs.

'Ow,' he hisses, glancing at her incredulously.

She raises her eyebrows at him and gestures to Harry. 'Didn't you want to _say_ something?' she says pointedly.

'Oh, er, yeah,' he says, his tone sheepish, and half cringes at Harry. 'I, uh, I didn't mean to— I mean I know I was...look I'm sorry, okay? I didn't know how big a deal this was in the muggle world.' To emphasise this rather ineloquent statement, Ron gestures vaguely in Harry's direction.

Somehow, Hermione resists the urge to groan. She gives Harry an exasperated look, hoping he realises that Ron is just being...well, _Ron_.

Harry's guarded expression doesn't shift. 'Okay,' he says, his voice low.

Ron's shoulders relax, the tension bleeding out far too quickly for Hermione's liking. He doesn't see it. He doesn't realise that "okay" is not the same as "I forgive you."

'Right,' says Ron, nodding hopefully. 'So, we're okay then, yeah?'

Harry's jaw clenches. He glances briefly at Hermione, but looks away before she can even think to send him a reassuring smile.

He shrugs, clearly unhappy, but not wanting to prolong the conversation. 'Guess that's up to you,' he says.

Ron shuffles his feet. 'Well, yeah,' he says. 'I mean, I don't care, you know? It's okay if you like blokes.'

Something both familiar and foreign flashes in Harry's gaze. Familiar because she's seen that expression many times over the last six years, but foreign in that she's never seen it on _Harry's_ face.

'Glad I have your approval,' says Harry, and the flippant, caustic way he says the words makes Hermione realise exactly _who_ that expression came from.

For a brief moment, Harry looks like Malfoy.

She stares at him, and then out to the Quidditch Pitch in the distance where she can see the tiny figures in the air and all at once she is absolutely certain that it's Slytherin quidditch team.

Ron had thought maybe Harry had come out to the pitch to fly and let off some steam, but what if that isn't the _only_ reason? How well does Harry know Malfoy's schedule?

Well enough to know that he'd be out playing Quidditch apparently.

'That's not...I mean, I didn't mean it like _that_ ,' says Ron, casting Hermione a desperate look for help. 'I just...I'm not going to beat you up like a muggle or anything, okay? I mean, it's not an issue, right? Shit, I'm not doing this right. Look, can't I just say I'm sorry and we forget the whole thing?'

Hermione can see the situation dissolving. She realises, too late, that making Ron cone out to apologise was the wrong move. It's too soon. Harry is still too upset.

For a moment, he looks like he's going to say no. That Malfoy-like anger lurks in his eyes, and Hermione can't help it, she has to intervene before this turns into fourth year all over again.

'You know what he means,' she says, giving him a soft, reassuring smile. 'You know we love you no matter what.'

Harry frowns at her, and she thinks—for one heart stopping moment—that she's gone too far by speaking up. That she's alienated him from _her_ too. But then he sighs, his shoulders relaxing into a droop as he runs a hand through his hair and glances away. He's Harry again. _Their_ Harry.

Hermione marvels over that. If this was their Harry, did that mean that the Harry of a few moments ago was Malfoy's?

Her mind whirls at the implications.

'Yeah,' says Harry, his tone more normal, and offers Ron a weak smile. 'Sure. It's forgotten.'

Ron sighs loudly in relief. 'Good,' he says.

'He won't tell anyone, either,' says Hermione, pointedly glaring at Ron. 'Will you?'

'Right! No, no I won't. That was an accident. With Hermione I mean. I won't do it again I swear.'

Harry nods. He glances around the hall, and swallows nervously.

'Right,' he says. 'Let's just...let's just go, yeah?'

'Yeah,' says Ron relief.

They both turn at the same time, and Hermione steps back out of the way, watching them. They don't quite fall in together. Ron is still looks too awkward to relax and Harry...Harry is holding back. Hermione frowns and knows that despite what Harry said, nothing has actually been resolved. She sighs and can only hope that things are better in the morning.

A week later and things between Ron and Harry are _still_ not any better. Hermione is almost at her wits end, unable to deal with trying to mediate the awkward tension between them.

It's actually _worse_ than fourth year. At least then she knew what needed to be done. But now...now neither of them will even admit there's a problem. They just keep dancing around the issue and pretending it doesn't exist.

Or, in Harry's case, just flat out running away. Like now, for instance.

'I've...gotta get another book,' he says.

'Hm? Okay, do you want a hand?' she asks, but Harry is already up and speeding toward the shelves.

Hermione blinks and frowns at his almost finished essay and the half a dozen books he already has scattered on the table. Then she spots the real reason for Harry's abrupt departure.

Ron slouches down into a seat next to Hermione and sighs heavily, dropping his chin into his hand.

'He's avoiding me, isn't he?' grumbles Ron.

Hermione considers the mess around Harry's spot at the table.

'Well, he definitely didn't need another book,' she says.

Ron groans. 'But _why_? I said sorry. I've said sorry _multiple_ times.'

'I know,' says Hermione, glancing back down at her own essay and redoing a sentence.

'Then what's the problem?'

'I don't know, Ron,' says Hermione, looking up again in exasperation. 'Maybe you should ask him.'

Ron scowls. 'He won't talk to me! That's the problem. Has he said anything to you?'

'No,' she says, and then, feeling sorry for him she adds, 'but I haven't really asked. I don't think he's ready to talk about it.'

'Then what am I supposed to do? You saw what just happened. He makes an excuse to leave or he starts talking to someone else or pretends he has some stupid project to work on with _Malfoy_. He spends more time with bloody Malfoy than he does with me!'

Hermione bites the inside of her mouth. She doesn't tell Ron what she's thinking. She certainly doesn't admit that he's right; that Harry _is_ spending more time with Malfoy. And that that time is surprisingly cordial. _More_ than cordial. Hermione is starting to wonder if Zabini isn't right. Harry and Malfoy _are_ friends.

Not that she plans on telling Ron that.

'I've already told you,' says Hermione, 'they're partners, they have to work together.'

'I know that but—,'

A shrill voice cuts him off. In a wave of too-strong perfume, Lavender flounces down next to Ron at the table. Uninvited. Hermione glowers at her. The small amount of sympathy Hermione had been feeling vanishes at her arrival, and she scowls back down at her parchment, stabbing her quill into the ink pot.

'Won Won!' Lavender coos, her fingers brushing through Ron's hair. 'There you are, I feel like I haven't seen you in _days_.'

This is untrue. Hermione knows this is untrue because she had to walk around their make out session this morning to get out of the common room.

It seems, in the absence of Harry, Ron has thrown himself even further into the disgusting display of snogging he calls a relationship. Hermione wrinkles her nose and attempts to block them out.

Well, if he really cared about patching things up with Harry he'd spend more time trying to figure out how to talk to his friend than he spent with his tongue shoved down Lavender's throat.

'Ron?' Lavender asks, her face falling. 'You okay?'

'Harry's avoiding me,' Ron says morosely to the bookshelves.

Lavender frowns and glances in the direction Ron is staring. 'I don't see him?'

'Yes,' says Hermione briskly, not looking up. 'Because he's _avoiding_ Ron.'

'Well, that's not very nice of him,' says Lavender stoutly, smiling in sympathy at Ron and running her hand through his hair again. 'You're wonderful.'

Hermione wants to gag. Or kick Lavender. Somehow she resists the urge to do either.

'Well, who cares about him anyway? How about tomorrow we go do something fun to take your mind of it?'

Hermione clenches her jaw and focuses on keeping her expression neutral.

'Like what?' says Ron as if he's only half paying attention.

'Well,' says Lavender. 'It _is_ a Hogsmeade weekend. I thought we could go together and get lunch.'

'Hm. Maybe,' says Ron, though doesn't sound at all interested. 'Harry and I usually check out Honeydukes though...'

'But you just said he was avoiding you.'

'Well, he is but...'

'Great! Then it's settled. You'll come with me tomorrow and we'll have a great time and forget all about Harry.'

Hermione can't help it. She looks up from her essay. Ron his frowning down at his hands, chewing on the inside of his mouth. He glances across at the empty seat where Harry was sitting and frustration flashes across his face.

'Alright then,' he says, turning to Lavender. 'You're on.'

Disappointment, anger and hurt pool in Hermione's stomach. Unable to keep the emotions from her face, she pushes up from the table.

'Be right back,' she mutters, and hurries off into the shelves.

God. Ron is just so...Hermione shakes her head. Tears smart her eyes, which only adds to the anger in her belly. Why was she _crying_ for heavens sake? So Ron wanted to spend the day with a girl instead of fixing his friendship with his best friend. That was _his_ stupid decision to make. Maybe she was disappointed, sure, after all she expected more of him. But it certainly wasn't any reason to cry. She certainly didn't care who he spent his days with. Why would she? It wasn't like she—

'But I _have_ been patient,' complains Harry.

Hermione stops, glancing around between the bookshelves to see him.

'I'm tired of being patient,' he continues, and for a moment Hermione thinks he's talking about Ron.

She's about to storm over there and tell him off. Patient? What exactly was _patient_ about running away? But she still can't see him.

'I doubt you'll have to be patient much longer,' says a familiar, airy voice. 'After all it's almost Christmas.'

Harry chuckles low and soft. 'Let me guess, there's some magical creature that loves christmas that's going to make all my troubles go away?'

'Oh no,' says Luna. 'Nargles are _horrendous_ at Christmas time. It's all the tinsel. You _are_ wearing the charm I gave you aren't you?'

'Every day,' says Harry, a smile in his voice. 'Though if I'm honest, I mostly only wear it because he does.'

He adds this last part in a soft, embarrassed tone, and Hermione freezes, stunned by the realisation that Harry is talking about a boy. A boy he _likes_.

'I tried to make them matching,' says Luna in agreement, 'after all, you two were getting no where.'

Harry laughs again. 'We're still getting no where. I feel like I'm getting whiplash with all this back and forth.'

'Oh of course you are,' says Luna. 'You just can't see it because of your glasses. But _he_ can. He told me so.'

'Wait, he did? What did he say?'

The hope in his voice is almost tangible. Something clicks in Hermione's mind. _Now_ she understands why he's avoiding Ron. It's one thing for Harry to admit that he's gay, but there is no way Ron wouldn't struggle with the idea that Harry might already have a boyfriend.

'Hm. Various things,' says Luna, drawing Hermione out of her thoughts.

'You're not going to tell me, are you?'

'That wouldn't be very friendly,' says Luna. 'I think you should wait until Christmas time. I always find that people often realise what they really want at Christmas.'

'I hope you're right,' says Harry.

The conversation goes quiet, and by the time Hermione comes around the corner of the bookshelves they're both gone.

She finds Harry back at their table (Ron has disappeared somewhere with Lavender) finishing off his essay. There's a small smile on his face as he works, and Hermione pauses before she joins him at the table.

She watches him, and she knows why Ron was so upset—feels her own hurt constricting her chest. She wants to _talk_ to him about this. She wants to be the one he goes to when he's embarrassed or confused, and she wonders what she's done wrong that he didn't feel comfortable to come to her. That he went to Ginny, and now Luna, with his worries.

She sighs, and buries her hurt, hoping that—when he's ready—he'll come to her too.

She heads over to the table, and as she sits down Harry glances up offering her a smile.

'Hey,' he says, and gestures to his parchment. 'Think I actually did a good job. You might be proud of me.'

'I'm always proud of you Harry,' she says.

He blinks at her. A blush swarms up his neck and he ducks his head, a small grin on his face and she realises that maybe she doesn't tell him that enough. Maybe _no one_ tells him that enough?

They fall into a comfortable silence, and even though she's resolved to wait until he's ready, she can't help but wonder.

Who is it Harry is dating?


	32. Good Friends

Chapter Thirty-Two

 _Good Friends_

 ** _Neville:_**

Professor McGonagall looks up just long enough to see Neville standing in the doorway, before refocusing back on the documents in front of her. Neville shifts his weight from foot to foot, nervously waiting just inside the doorway.

'Longbottom,' she says, turning a page over. 'Sit down.'

Neville swallows and nods, almost tripping on his way to the chair opposite her. She continues with her work for several tense moments, leaving Neville no choice but to glance around her office, feeling very much like he's sweating through his robes.

He's studying one of the cat portraits on her wall when she glances up at him from over her glasses and frowns.

'Why aren't you—ah, sorry, Longbottom,' she shakes her head, and pulls a sheaf of paper from between her stacks. 'I thought I'd laid this out. Professor Sprout wrote this on your behalf.'

Neville straightens and reaches out to take the paper. Professor Sprout's familiar cursive curls across the parchment.

 _Minerva,_

 _Neville Longbottom continues to show outstanding promise in the field of Herbology, as such I would like to extend to him the opportunity to oversea the growth of one of the more overlooked greenhouses—with your permission of course._

 _With your knowledge of his schedule and abilities, I leave the decision in your capable hands._

 _Pomona._

For a moment Neville has to be sure he's really awake. As subtly as he can, he gives his arm a pinch.

'Congratulations are in order, Mr Longbottom,' Professor McGonagall says, peering over her glasses at him. 'You may start your extra work in Greenhouse Four in your free periods and in the evenings, but be sure to be back in Gryffindor tower before curfew and stay on top of your homework and assignments.'

Neville almost doesn't hear the last half of her speech. 'Four?' he says. 'But that's…that's the rare species house.'

'I suggest you study up then.'

He's not sure what he wants to do more, write to his Nan and tell her about this honour, to make her _proud_ ; or to race down to the greenhouse and see what's there, what needs to be done.

'Can…can I go now?' he asks, butterflies swirling in his stomach.

McGonagall smiles expectantly. 'I thought you might say that,' she says, her voice just as stern as ever, but there's a slight crinkle to the edges of her eyes. 'I assigned Potter and Malfoy to clean up the weeds and overgrown plants in preparation for your assignment. Let them know their detention is finished when you go down.'

'I—sure, this is…thank you!' Neville gays and his mind is reeling.

He has his own greenhouse. He has his _own_ greenhouse!

He doesn't run. He even manages to keep the skip in his step to a minimum as he heads down to the Entrance Hall.

Neville's been in the exotic greenhouses once before, but to have it under his care? To take his time to go through the plants and get to know them and watch them flourish? Jitters shiver up his spine and he doesn't even bother trying to conceal his goofy smile. He bounces passed the Great Hall where dinner is just wrapping up—leaving him with several hours before curfew to really explore his new assignment.

The night air is cool and crisp and Neville winds his way around the side of the castle, so excited he has to take extra care not to trip and fall on his face. Not that he'd care if he did. For the first time he feels like even falling won't stop him. He's full to bursting with pride.

He's so wrapped up in these thoughts that as he pushes his way into the vine covered door of Greenhouse Four he forgets that it isn't empty.

Though the sky outside is darkening, several lanterns float above the various plants, casting a soft yellow glow into the green depths. Instantly, Neville feels the presence of this place. The natural magic given off by several of the plants (especially left alone as they have been to become overgrown and unruly). He knows he's going to have his hands full, just off the thick, crackling atmosphere of the air.

There are a lot of plants in here with attitude.

Then, almost as if to break the spell, laughter echoes out from further within the building. Neville blinks into the dusk-like light, remembering that he's not alone.

Careful of the reaching branches and exploding pot-plants, Neville shuffles further into the gloom of the building. He wants to call out to Harry, to let them know he's there, but at the same time the atmosphere of the greenhouse keeps him quiet. A soft reverence that fills him, and he reaches out to touch a leaf, whispering a soft greeting as he does so, unable to muster the courage to break the hush over the building.

'—mess as usual,' comes Malfoy's voice. 'You're supposed to be making it better, not worse.'

'Oh shut up,' Harry chuckles. 'You're just jealous.'

Malfoy scoffs. 'I'm not even going to dignify that with an answer.'

'Because it's true,' says Harry, a smugness to his voice. 'Obviously the plants like me better than you.'

'They're _plants_.'

'Yeah,' says Harry. 'But Neville says a lot of magical plants respond to feelings. And you're a grumpy old fart, so it's no wonder they like me best.'

'A grumpy…Oh you asked for it now, Potter!'

Neville comes around the corner of a rather thick trunked sapling just in time to see Malfoy smear soil over the side of Harry's face. Harry sputters, green eyes blinking at the Slytherin in shock, before he erupts into laughter.

Malfoy, to Neville's shock, is grinning. 'Look at that, I think I actually improved your looks,' he says.

Harry's chuckle shifts tone. 'Oh really?' he says, and grabs the front of Malfoy's shirt. 'Let's see how you like it up close then?'

Before Neville can even think to speak up, Harry pulls Malfoy close and presses their lips together. The force of the tug surprises Malfoy, and his foot catches on a stray tree root, sending Malfoy staggering into Harry. They're thrown off balance and the two of them go crashing into the ground.

'Merlin Potter, you are a walking catastrophe,' groans Malfoy, but there's a smile on his face that Neville has never seen before. He leans down and finishes the kiss that Harry started.

The kiss. They're… _kissing_.

Neville is stuck. Shock seizes him and he knows he needs to get away, _fast_ , before either of them realise he's there but his brain can't seem to send the message to the rest of his stupid frozen body.

As usual, all his thoughts scramble in a panic, and when the message does finally get through, his legs jump start ahead of the rest of him. He turns sharply, unprepared for the sudden motion, and walks straight into a table lined with delicate soil testing tubes. He cringes as they go scattering across the table.

Oh god. Ohgodohgodohgod.

There's a sudden quiet behind him followed by a frenzied scrambling. Neville doesn't want to turn around. He doesn't want to face them.

'N-Neville?'

'Erm,' says Neville to the table. 'I…McGonagall wanted me to tell you detention is over,' he says, and then because he can't think of any other way to make the situation better, he pushes away from the table and flees.

Any excitement over the prospect of getting to know the exotic plants is quashed by despair. Whatever was going on just now had obviously been _private_ , and there he was watching them like a peeping tom. God, they were going to be furious with him.

Why did he have to be such a klutz?

He's almost at the door to the greenhouse when Harry calls out after him. Panic overwhelms Neville and before he has a chance to think about what he's doing he dives between a couple of large, bulbous purple blossoms by the greenhouse door. He squeezes his eyes shut and prays that they won't see him.

'Erm...Neville?' comes Harry's uncertain voice. 'What're you doing?'

'Hiding.'

'But...' Harry trails off. 'Um...Is that plant chewing on your arm?'

'Yes,' Neville whimpers. 'It hurts.'

A hand closes around Neville's arm and pulls him free of the flowers (which weren't really trying to eat him, they were just curious). Neville sighs as the offending bulbous flower releases his arm without hassle. His robes are soaked through with a pungent smelling slime, but that's nothing to the discomfort he knows he's about to face.

'Thanks Harry,' he says softly and looks up into the unimpressed face of _Malfoy_.

Neville gulps, almost tripping backwards into the plants.

Malfoy merely raises an eyebrow at him. Somehow, unkempt and with the dirt smeared across his face, he still manages to terrify Neville.

There's a moment of tense silence and Neville just wants to shrink back into the foliage, carnivorous flowers or not.

'So, um. How's your arm?' asks Harry.

'Oh, fine,' says Neville, shrugging and unable to look Harry in the face. 'It's not the first time I've been bitten by a plant.'

'Why does that not surprise me,' says Malfoy dryly and when no one else says anything he sighs and continues. 'Much as I'd _love_ to stay and watch you feed yourself to a plant, this situation seems to be causing Potter here some distress. So, how about you try not to become plant food, and we figure out what it's gonna cost for you to stay quiet about all of this.'

Neville blinks stupidly at him. 'Er, what?'

Malfoy shoots Harry an exasperated look. 'Honestly, are all you Gryffindor's this thick?'

Harry nudges him. 'Stop it,' he says softly but keeps his gaze steadily on his shoes.

Malfoy just rolls his eyes and looks at Neville expectantly.

Neville gulps. 'Look, I'm sorry,' he blurts. 'I didn't mean to—I mean, I was trying—I wasn't _spying_ , okay? McGonagall said I could come and look at the greenhouse if I told you your detention was over so I wasn't trying to, to, to interrupt…or anything. I wasn't spying.'

They both stare at him. Malfoy with increasing incredulity and Harry in surprise.

'Of course you weren't spying,' says Malfoy. 'Merlin, you'd be the worst bloody spy in the world.'

Harry sighs in exasperation and gives Malfoy a look. 'Do you have to be so insulting?'

'What, you want me to say he'd be a _good_ spy?'

'I—no, I just…it's not _Neville's_ fault.'

'I didn't say it was,' says Malfoy, and he turns that sharp blue gaze back on Neville. 'Well? What do you want?'

Neville tries not to gulp again. 'I don't want anything,' he says.

Which is mostly true. Although, he'd give almost anything to be out of this situation right now, but he has a feeling that's not an option.

'Everyone wants something,' says Malfoy. 'What's your price? I'm sure I can have whatever plant your green little heart desires shipped here within a week. Name it and I'll get it.'

Neville frowns. 'You…you want to buy me a plant?'

'Ye-es. For your silence.'

'My…' confusion finally wins out over the discomfort and the fear. 'I'm sorry, I'm confused. Why do you need to buy my silence?'

'I know that this might seem…strange,' says Harry, glancing up at Neville and then across at Malfoy. 'But, I'd really appreciate it if you didn't say anything. I know you don't have any reason not to. Especially with how Draco can…er, but um, you know, if you could maybe just keep it to yourself…that is, if we're…if we're still friends?'

Realisation hits Neville like a stampeding hippogriff. 'Of course we're still friends,' he says, dumbfounded that Harry could think otherwise. 'Why wouldn't we be?'

Harry blinks, eyes wide and bright and hopeful. 'Well,' he says, cheeks flushing red as he shoots another quick glance over at Malfoy. 'I mean…'

'I think what Potter is trying to say,' says Malfoy in that clipped, sarcastic tone. 'Is that Potter and I snogging in the dirt isn't exactly going to please most people.'

'Oh my god,' Harry mutters and runs a hand nervously through his already mussed up hair. 'Do you have to say it like that?'

'How else would you like me to say it?'

'Well I don't know, just, not like _that_.'

'Very eloquent.'

'Oh shut up.'

'No, really,' says Malfoy, turning to look down at Harry, 'the poets should come to you for advice.'

Harry glares at him, his face turning even more crimson, until he turns, scoops up a handful of fertiliser from a nearby pot and dumps it over Malfoy's head.

Neville just gapes at them. He's waiting for Malfoy to crack, to start shouting and throwing curses, but instead the boy just shakes free most of the fertiliser and smirks at Harry.

'Finally,' he says, brushing his fingers through his fringe. 'There's the Potter we all know and adore.'

Harry sputters. 'I—you— _god_. You are such an arse sometimes. Why can't you ever just cheer people up the conventional way.'

'What, like someone _common_?'

'Oh here we go,' says Harry rolling his eyes. 'You and your superiority complex.'

Malfoy smirks. 'Glad you've worked out that I'm your superior.'

'I'm going to dump more soil on your head.'

'Do it, and see how far you get with me next time you want someone to snog.'

'You can't just use that as a bargaining chip for everything, you know.'

Neville, sensing that this argument might go on for some time, tries to creep backwards a step.

'I can if it works,' says Malfoy and then pins his gaze on Neville, freezing him in place. 'Where do you think you're going?'

'I…er…this seemed like a uh, a private…thing,' Neville falters and swallows hard, wishing very much that he'd chosen to write to his Gran instead of investigate the greenhouse.

'Oh leave off him,' Harry says, and shoves Malfoy's shoulder.

'Why should I? We haven't yet established if he's trustworthy or not?'

'Of course he's trustworthy,' says Harry. 'He's Neville.'

Malfoy raises an eyebrow. 'Two minutes ago you were freaking out thinking he was going to tell everyone.'

'I…well, not because he'd _tell_ anyone, just…' Harry glances at Neville and runs a hand through his hair again. 'I didn't want you to hate me.'

Neville blinks. 'Hate you? I would never hate you, Harry.'

'Merlin, Potter, even _I_ can figure that much out. Longbottom is about as aggressive as a puppy.'

'Oh, you mean the opposite of you?' Harry quips and Malfoy shoves him.

Glancing between them, Neville feels some of the bafflement drain away. Malfoy still makes him nervous but there's something about the way they're interacting that—although they're bickering—is different from before.

It takes Neville a moment to realise what it is, but when he does he wonders that he didn't see it earlier. There's no hostility. They're arguing, yes, but it's almost like they're having fun. There's a faint smile tugging at Harry's lips, and a gleam in Malfoy's eyes, like they're playing some strange game trying to see who can out-insult the other. Yet none of the insults are serious. They don't mean them. Even Malfoy's voice isn't as barbed or cutting as it used to be.

'Well if we're quite done here,' says Malfoy, brushing a stray speck of dirt off his robes. 'I have better things to do than stand around gossiping with Gryffindors.'

Harry snorts. 'Oh yeah,' he mutters. 'Says the biggest gossip of them all.'

Before Malfoy can retort, he turns to Neville and offers him a small smile. 'Sorry again, about all this,' he says, gesturing vaguely around. 'We'll let you look around. Congrats, by the way. On the greenhouse. You must be really proud.'

Despite the surrealness of the last ten minutes, Neville finds himself smiling. 'Thanks, Harry. I am.'

Harry grins. He turns and starts to push Malfoy toward the door.

'Oi! Who the hell said you could man-handle me, Potter?'

'Just showing off my backbone, like you said,' Harry quips, and winks at Neville as they pass.

Malfoy mutters obscenities and curses, but goes willingly and without any actual resistance. Neville can only watch in awe, stunned at this strange compliance from the usually intolerant Slytherin.

Harry just laughs and shoves him through the door. He pauses, though, and glances back at Neville.

'Thanks, Neville,' he says in a soft voice.

Neville blinks. 'What for?' he asks in bemusement.

'For being a good friend.' The blush returns to Harry's face, stronger than ever, and then—before Neville can reply—he disappears out the door after Malfoy.

Neville turns back to the greenhouse spread out before him, beaming so wide he wonders that it doesn't split his face. Pride swells in his chest, and—with renewed confidence—he heads into his new domain, sure that nothing will top this night (it's oddities and all) in quite some time.


	33. Ghosts of Christmas

Chapter Thirty-Three

 _Ghosts of Christmas_

 ** _Myrtle:_**

The door to the second floor out-of-order bathroom creaks open and Myrtle sighs, wondering who has come wandering into her domain to torture her this time.

Someone chuckles, a low timbre voice muttering something she can't hear, and a second person shushes the first. Fury wells up in Myrtle's chest. Boys. There are _boys_ in her bathroom.

She raises herself up out of her stall to get a better look at them, trying to decide whether or not she should hide or attempt to scare them off. Boy's taunts were always the worst.

There's another low mumble that she can't hear, followed by a chuckle that sets her ire burning.

'Merlin, Potter, _shut up_ ,' hisses the second boy, shoving the first further into the bathroom. 'He's still out there.'

Potter? Myrtle blinks and leans up over the stall wall to take a closer look at them.

'You know this is a _girls_ bathroom,' says the first boy.

The first boy with messy, thick black hair and bright, emerald coloured eyes rimmed by thin wire frames. Harry Potter. A faint flicker of something like a heartbeat flutters in Myrtle's chest as delight swarms through her. _Harry_. _Her_ Harry.

'Yes, idiot,' says the other boy, _shoving_ her Harry further into the bathroom and casting a nervous look over his shoulder.

'But—'

The blond boy turns back to Harry, putting his hand over Harry's mouth to cut off any further talking. 'Hush.'

Harry goes quiet, green eyes wide behind his glasses as the other boy stands far to close to him.

The blond glances over his shoulder at the door again, and it's so quiet in the room Myrtle can here the familiar comforting gurgle of the broken toilet in the second last stall.

A moment later, shuffling footsteps sound outside the door, and Myrtle can recognise the limping gait of the Caretaker of Hogwarts.

She contemplates calling out, giving the boys away and making them leave her sanctity, but…it's been _so long_ since Harry has come to visit her and as she peers over the edge of the stall at him it's clear that he's only grown more attractive in that time.

'Okay,' says the blond, stepping back from Harry. 'I think he's gone.'

'Stupid Filch,' Harry mumbles, and drops his head onto the other boy's shoulder. 'Hm. You smell good.'

The blond flushes. 'You're drunk.'

'Mm. You still smell good.'

'How much of that punch did you have?'

'Mmm, two glasses? Maybe three?' Harry tilts his head to look up at the boy, but doesn't stop leaning on him.

They stumble and the blond has to brace himself against the sinks so they don't go tumbling over onto the ground.

'Bloody—I'm going to _kill_ Zabini.'

Harry leans further into the blond. 'You really do smell good.'

'Merlin, Potter, would you—mpff!'

Myrtle gasps, ducking down from the edge of the stall in shock, sure that her eyes are misleading her, that _her_ Harry hadn't just…with his lips…with _that_ boy…

She creeps back up and, 'oh!' she squeaks and almost ducks back down. _Almost_. But she can't look away. After all, it's lonely being a teenage ghost, and no one ever kissed _her_ the way Harry is currently kissing the blond boy.

He has his hands in the boy's hair, messing up the slicked back strands, as he presses their mouths together once, twice, three times. One of them groans. The blond pulls away, but only for a moment, and Harry is pulling him back, muttering, 'don't stop,' against his lips, swallowing up any chance of protest.

Myrtle is riveted to the spot. She can't move. If she could blush, her face would be redder than ripened radish. Despite embarrassment, she can't but imagine it's _her_ down there. Her hair Harry's fingers are sliding through, her neck he's peppering kisses along, her ears he's whispering soft words into, her shirt he's pulling open, a hand slipping down to—

The blond boy jerks back, blue eyes wide, 'wait, wait, just,' he pauses, panting, staring hard at Harry.

Harry blinks. 'What's wrong?'

'I—you…Potter, you're drunk.'

'So?'

'So…you're not…we can't…This isn't a good idea.'

Harry frowns and presses closer again, trapping the blond between him and the sinks. 'That's never stopped you before.'

'You've never been drunk before,' he says, and despite his protests, he doesn't push Harry away.

Myrtle doesn't blame him, she wouldn't either. Not if Harry was pressed against _her_.

'Isn't this why you followed me out here?' says Harry in a soft voice, turning his face into the blond's neck.

'I…'

'Why else would you leave the party?'

The blond swallows and closes his eyes. 'Because it was awful?'

Harry grins. 'Is that a question?'

The blond clears his throat and looks away. 'Look, Potter…'

'I saw the way you looked at me when I was caught under the mistletoe with Luna,' says Harry. 'You were jealous.'

The blond scoffs and finally manages to wriggle away from Harry. 'I'm not _jealous_ , Potter,' he snaps, running a hand through his now messy hair.

Harry leans back against the sinks, arms crossed and pouting. 'Then why'd you follow me?'

'Oh for fucks—I followed you because Zabini spiked the damn punch and you had _three glasses_! And because I _figured_ you wouldn't want to be caught staggering down the halls after curfew by Filch or Snape.'

'So what if they did? I was at Slughorn's stupid party. Ask anyone. You were there, you saw me.'

'Yes, and that would be fine, if you weren't _drunk_.'

'So what? That's what I have you for. You'll protect me.'

'I…Merlin…' the blond runs a hand through his hair, his face flushing red. 'Why do you do that?'

'Do what?'

'Just…you're so…'

Harry tilts his head. He pushes off from the sink, closing the distance between them in two short—if wobbly—strides. 'Hot?' he says into the other boy's ear. 'Snoggable?'

The boy groans. 'No,' he says through gritted teeth. 'Drunk.'

Harry sighs, and drops his head onto the boy's shoulder and groans. 'You're so frustrating.'

' _I'm_ frustrating?'

'Yes!' says Harry, taking two steps backwards.

He stumbles, and almost falls, but the blond is there with a steadying hand, keeping him upright. Harry shrugs him off.

'I'm fine,' he snaps. 'God. You _are_ frustrating! You and all your, your…your fucking mixed signs—signals!—driving me in-in— _crazy_. How can you be such a complete asshole, and yet so…so…I dunno just, _you_. You insult me, but somehow, that makes me laugh. What the fuck is wrong with me? And what the fuck is wrong with you? And why, why do you _smell so good_.'

'Well maybe if you took a hint, and stopped _throwing_ yourself at me—'

'Oh so it's my fault that you're an obnock-obnox- a god damn _flirt_?'

'If you recall, I tried to stop this. _Several_ _times_. You're the one who keeps insisting on keeping up this stupid crush. Why can't you just let it go?'

Harry steps forward, closing the distance between them, only this time the tension is entirely different. 'Why can't _you_? All your, your mean words and nasty comments, but it's _you_ pretending not hold my hand in class. _You_ finding ex-excuses to spend time with me. Getting us in detention. _Looking_ at me like that. God damn it, Draco, what am I _supposed_ to do? I can't fucking help it!'

'Well neither can I!'

They stare at each other. The tension builds, shifts, and then they're kissing again. It's a desperate sort of kissing. Like they're afraid they'll change their minds, and they're awkward and uncoordinated. They knock heads twice and Harry laughs, leaning heavily on the other boy as he looses his balance.

Myrtle frowns. It's a strange thing. It doesn't really _look_ enjoyable, but, then again, they're both smiling.

'Merlin, you _are_ hopeless,' mutters Draco, rubbing his forehead.

'Shut up,' says Harry. 'You're not allowed to be mean to me, it's Christmas. And I'm drunk.'

Draco snorts and flicks Harry in the head. 'Hopeless,' he repeats.

Despite her confusion, Myrtle sighs enviously. 'I wish I had a boyfriend.'

The reaction is immediate. The boys spring apart, recoiling like they've been burnt. They turn toward her, eyes searching, and she squeaks, ducking back down behind the bathroom stall.

'Jesus, fuck,' gasps Harry. ' _Myrtle_? What the—were you _spying_ on us?'

She winces, cursing her habit of voicing her thoughts. The Bloody Baron was _always_ berating her for the habit. It was one of the main reasons the other ghosts didn't like hanging around her much.

'Who the hell is Myrtle?' asks the Draco boy.

'Er, she's a ghost. She died in here fifty years ago,' says Harry. 'Myrtle? Come out, please?'

'Oh, fucking great. A _ghost_? We're screwed.'

'Sh! Myrtle, will you please come out?'

Myrtle twists her hands in her shirt hem. 'Are you going to yell at me?' she asks.

'I…no,' says Harry, his voice softening. 'You just…startled us. That's all.'

Slowly Myrtle peeks her head out of the closed bathroom stall. The two boys blink back at her.

'I didn't mean to spy,' she says, shrugging. 'But it's been so long since anyone came in here…'

Harry nods. 'I, yeah. Um. Look, about what you saw. I, er, could you maybe—'

'Oh for Merlin's sake, Potter,' says Draco, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms. 'You really need to get better at this. Look, Myrtle, was it? We'd appreciate it if you didn't say anything.'

Myrtle blinks, looking between them. At the vivid red blush across both their faces. Embarrassment that she was no longer capable of feeling. Not the way _they_ did. Her blood didn't swarm under her skin, didn't heat her cheeks or burn her ears. A twinge of something cold and nasty coils in her stomach, and she bites at her lip.

'Well, that depends,' she says sulkily.

'On?' asks Harry, his voice expectant and full of dread.

'On whether or not you agree to come visit me.'

'Um, what?' asks Draco.

Harry, on the other hand, doesn't look surprised. His shoulders sag, and he runs a hand through his hair, shooting Draco a quick look that Myrtle can't interpret.

'I…er, we'll try our best,' says Harry weakly but Myrtle gives him a hard look, shooting forward to get right up in his face (she only wishes she could get in his face like _Draco_ had).

'You better do better than _that_ ,' she says sharply. 'After all, us ghosts can get quite lonely. Sometimes we like to share stories about the interesting things that happen to us. There's so little that's interesting that happens in here—'

Draco snorts. 'I'll bet,' he mutters, and Harry elbows him in the ribs.

'Who knows who I'll tell?' says Myrtle, pretending she didn't hear him.

'Alright, Myrtle,' says Harry. 'We get it. I'll come visit you, okay? Not all the time, mind. I have class, and detention, and quidditch. But I'll…I'll come by at least…um, once a week?'

Myrtle eyes him for a long moment, and he shuffles uncomfortably. 'Both of you,' she says.

'Um, what?'

'I want both of you to come. At least once a week. Together.'

'Er,' Harry glances sideways at Draco.

Draco rolls his eyes and once again runs a hand through his hair. 'Yeah, alright,' he says, shaking his head. 'Why the fuck not? But this isn't some sort of pervy ghost show, okay? We agree to come and visit you, or whatever, but that's it.'

Myrtle pouts. 'I suppose that's okay,' she says.

Draco snorts. 'It better be,' he says and shakes his head, glancing at Harry. 'Only you could end up getting black mailed by a bloody ghost, Potter.'

* * *

 **A/N:**

Little bit of smut for you seeing as the next two chapters (which are almost finished!) are a bit more serious.

Things should start to pick back up again, updates wise, so keep an eye out. I'm hoping to be back on regular weekly updates, if not more. As always, thanks for sticking with me, you guys rock, and I love that you love this story as much as I do!


	34. Playing Pretend

Posting this one early because the next chapter is rather long.

The plot is going to start progressing a little faster from here on out, and it'll be a bit more serious than it has been over the next couple of chapters.

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Four

 _Playing Pretend_

 ** _Theo:_**

He's careful. _More_ than careful. He wraps the parcel in layers and layers of brown paper before adding the final wrap of traditional coloured, glossy paper. He finishes it all off with a bow, big and bright and not at all like anything he would have chosen—yet it looks _exactly_ like something _she_ would give someone at Christmas. It's all perfect. It's all precisely how he planned.

So how does it go so wrong?

It's the last class of the last day before they're all due to head home for Christmas. Lavender Brown—who he has yet to escape from in McGonagall's new seating regime—is chatting fervently to one of the Patil sisters. Theo can't tell which, and he doesn't care. While no one is looking, he slips the brightly coloured package from his bag to hers, and then he waits.

Brown is reliably consistent, and it didn't take him long to realise he could use her air-headed, teacher's pet ways to achieve his goal. As the rest of the students filter out, Brown has—once again—forgotten to pack up her things.

McGonagall clears her throat. 'I trust you'll all behave while you're away, and come back refreshed and ready to learn.'

Her gaze, as it usually does, lingers a moment longer on Potter. The boy doesn't notice. He's too busy dawdling, trying to pretend he's still got things to do so he can hang back. Draco, likewise, is doing the same.

Theo knows that, somewhere in the room, Blaise and Granger are watching them. Trying to figure out who is right. Who is going to win the ten galleons.

Theo has more important things to worry about.

Like making sure McGonagall is out of the room before Brown.

As surreptitiously as he can manage, he knocks his elbow into her books and sends them scattering onto the floor.

'Oh, dang, oh sorry,' she says, and—if Theo wasn't so tense—he'd marvel over her ability to apologise for something _he_ had done.

'No worries,' he mutters. 'Was my fault.'

She smiles nervously, her hands fluttering over her books. 'Nonsense,' she says, ducking down to gather up her things. 'Don't be silly.'

McGonagall heads out of the room, disappearing into her office almost exactly on cue and, as Brown is opening up her bag, her face lighting up in confusion when she sees the package he'd slipped into it, Theo sticks.

' _Imperio_ ,' he whispers.

It's a strange feeling, the sense of control that flows through him when his spell hits her. She resists him for a moment, and Theo frowns, strengthening the force of his spell, his hand tight around his wand, the grain rough against his palm.

He recalls their fourth year lesson with Mad-Eye Moody and remembers her simple acquiescence to the spell—part of the reason he had chosen her—and can only assume that this mild resistance is Potter's fault.

Really, he should have taken it as a sign.

'Do you need a hand, Lav?' asks the Patil sister from where she's finished packing up her own things.

 _'_ _No,'_ Theo thinks. _'I'm fine, you go ahead.'_

'No,' says Brown. 'I'm fine, you go ahead.'

'Are you sure?'

 _'_ _Yes, I have something I need to do. A present to deliver.'_

'Yes,' says Brown, her voice a little too flat—and Theo can only hope that Patil doesn't notice. 'I have something I need to do. A present to deliver.'

'Ohhh, a present? For who?'

'I'll tell you later, it's a secret.'

'Tsk. Well fine then,' says Patil, smiling. 'If you're sure?'

'I'm sure,' says Brown.

Patil shrugs and shoulders her bag. 'Alright, I'll see you later then.'

Brown nods and Theo breathes a small sigh of relief as Patil walks away. His biggest obstacle bounds out of the room on the tails of most their classmates.

His shoulders, taut with tension, relax just a tiny bit.

And there is his mistake.

Brown has the parcel in hand, her bag slung casually over one shoulder, a small smile on her face as she heads toward the door.

Harry Potter, too busy grinning at something Draco has said, takes a step back into the walkway, not watching where he's going, and bumps _right into Brown_.

One bump. That's all it takes. One misstep from one stupid, stumbling student and all of Theo's carefully laid plans come crashing down around his ears.

 _'_ _No.'_

'No,' gasps Brown, echoing Theo's panicked thoughts as she stumbles.

The package, so carefully wrapped, so thoughtfully preserved, spills from Brown's hands and tumbles to the floor.

Theo can't move. Can't breathe. His heart hammers in his chest as he stares in horror as everything he's worked fall crashes to the floor.

'Shit, sorry Lavender,' says Potter, turning at last to see what's happened and Theo wants to scream at him to watch where he's going—to _fucking look—_ but it's too late.

It's too late.

The wrapping paper splits, tearing down the middle, exposing the light silver and soft gems of the necklace hidden inside. No. _No._ Theo's spell snaps, his hold over Brown shattering into pieces as the necklace comes free.

Brown stands there, staring down at the crumpled mess of ruined wrapping paper, blinking in surprise.

Potter, ever the hero, crouches down, reaching for the paper and Theo's mind is screaming. It wasn't supposed to be him, damnit. It was supposed to be—

'Harry, stop!'

Draco's voice is sharp and caustic, his hand snapping out to grab at the collar of Potter's robes and yank him backwards, away from the necklace he was seconds from touching. Potter, thrown off balance from the force of Draco's tug, falls on his arse. He blinks stupidly and looks up at Draco with a questioning frown, unaware how close he's just come to horrendous pain.

Draco, though, is perfectly aware. He stares at the necklace in mute horror, his hand still clutched around Potter's robes, holding him in place, stopping him from trying to pick it up again.

The room is quiet. What few remaining students are watching them in various stages of curiosity. Granger says something, but Theo can't hear it over the rushing in his ears.

They're in various stages of packing up their things, and Theo can only hope that they haven't seen the necklace. That the damage is limited to just these three. Brown, Potter and Draco.

Potter, who (like everyone else) is still frowning at Draco. Draco glances down at him, his face too-pale, and seems to get control of himself. He manages to school his expression into a sneer of annoyance. Ignoring the curious gazes of their classmates, he sidesteps Potter and scoops up the ruined parcel from the floor.

Theo swallows hard. He thinks, for a moment, that the situation is contained, but then Draco turns and _shoves it at Brown_.

A small noise of alarm slips out from the back of Theo's throat. He glances around, his heart still beating too hard, throbbing painfully against his ribcage, but no one is looking at him.

'Sorry about your gift, Brown,' says Draco, his drawl not quite covering up the hard edge to his voice. 'Pity it broke. Where did you get it? Maybe Potter can get you a new one?

Brown looks down at the crumpled paper that Draco has shoved back into her hands, confusion lining her face. 'Um…I didn't…did class finish?'

She's still in shock, still reeling from the after effects of Theo's curse, and her mind has yet to catch up to her, but Theo can't even _think_ about that when Draco has just _handed her back_ the necklace. There's no way she won't find it. No way she won't _touch_ it. Not with the paper all scrunched up like that and—

Potter is on his feet, brushing himself off as he looks back and forth between Draco and Brown. Draco shifts away from him, and it's then that Theo realises he has one hand firmly in his pocket. He moves his body slightly away from Potter, keeping the hand in his pocket clear of any chance of being brushed up against.

Relief floods through Theo. He has the necklace. Somehow, during the confusion, Draco managed to slip the necklace into his own pocket before anyone else saw it.

'Harry?' Granger calls, frowning over at the three of them, at Draco standing far too close to Brown with that furious expression on his face and Potter looking back and forth between them. 'Everything okay?'

Potter frowns. 'Er,' he says, and gives Draco a questioning glance.

Something unspoken passes between Potter and Draco, and the expression on Draco's face eases somewhat. He takes a pointed step away from Brown—still blinking in confusion—and says,

'It's fine, Granger. Just Potter being his usual clumsy self.'

'Er, yeah,' says Potter, and he turns to Lavender. 'Sorry Lavender. And about the present.'

Theo knows that Potter can't possibly know about the necklace, can't know—no matter what look Draco gave him—what danger they were just in, and yet the boy is obviously covering for Draco. Theo knows it. Granger knows it. Blaise knows it. Yet no one says anything.

'Present?' says Brown, and looks down at the wrapping paper in her hands with a frown.

Theo contemplates casting another Imperius, but with so few of them in the room, and with all their attention on the girl, there's no way he'd get away with it. Better to trust that Potter will protect Draco from whatever he thinks is happening.

'I'll, er, help you fix it up,' Potter offers.

'Sure,' says Brown slowly. 'Thanks, Harry.'

Potter nods. He glances down at the parcel, his frown deepening as he reads the tag that Theo had painstakingly wrote in Brown's handwriting.

'It's for Dumbledore?' he asks. 'I'm going there later, I can take it up for you if you like. After it's fixed.'

He shoots a quick glance over at Draco. Draco, whose expression is tightly controlled, giving nothing away. Unlike Potter, whose every thought flashes across his face. Theo swallows tightly, glancing across at Granger and Blaise, who have yet to leave the room.

'Sure,' says Brown again and allows Potter to steer her from the room.

Confusion follows them.

Longbottom, always twitchy in situations of potential conflict, clears his throat noisily. 'Er, see you, I guess?' he says, though Theo doesn't know to who.

'Yeah,' says Blaise, but he's staring at Draco with that calculative gaze, and Theo feels dread settle into his stomach.

Longbottom shrugs, cuts a glance across to Granger, and shuffles out of the room. Granger, giving Draco (who is pretending to rustle around in his bag) one last piercing look before heading off. That leaves just the remaining Slytherins.

Draco straightens, his bag clutched tightly in one hand, and the other still stuffed carefully into his pocket.

Daphne frowns, glancing around at them. At Blaise, who is staring fixedly at Draco. At Greg, frowning back and forth between Draco and the door. And at Theo, who hasn't yet moved since the incident began, his wand still half clutched in his hand, just barely hidden by the folds of his robes.

'Okay,' she says, dropping her bag onto a table. 'What's going on?'

There's a moment of silence and Theo can't breathe. Thinks he's going to pass out. Or throw up.

'Nothing,' says Draco, his voice still flat. 'Potter is an idiot, as usual. Better get back to the dorms. Snape's doing his usual pre-holiday inspections tonight.'

He turns, his gaze flicking over them but resting that little bit too long on each of his dorm mates. On Blaise, an Greg and Theo himself.

Blaise raises one eyebrow, but nods. 'Right,' he says. 'Better get back to clean up before then.'

Daphne frowns and Theo knows she's not convinced. She knows that something has happened. But then so do they all. Even Greg. Even _he_ isn't so stupid to not realise that much.

Theo swallows. Tries to unstick his throat. Before they notice how shaken he really is.

Draco, his face still expressionless, shoulders his bag, and stalks out of the room. One by one, the others follow.

As he trudges down to Slytherin dorms, Theo feels the panic subsiding. He isn't out of danger yet, but at the very least he hasn't been discovered. Not by anyone significant anyway.

Sure, Potter is a problem. But for now, at least, he's staying silent to protect Draco. Theo isn't sure how long it will last. How far the depth of loyalty extends into whatever newfound partnership has formed between Draco and Potter. The one thing he's sure of, though, is that the second Potter finds out what that necklace is, what he almost endured, he'll go to Dumbledore.

Theo can't let that happen.

He has to make sure that whatever Draco tells him is a version of the truth that Theo can live with. After all, it was _Draco_ Theo had retrieved the necklace from. Draco who had snuck the thing into Hogwarts to begin with. If all else failed, Theo could easily pin the situation on him. No one would doubt him. Not with Draco's track record. Not when the mission was Draco's to begin with.

Not when Theo was certain all the evidence he needed to bring Draco down lay on his left forearm. The real question was, could he? Draco was a self-involved, conceited asshole, sure, but they had been friends for years. Since before Hogwarts. He'd stayed at Malfoy Manor more times than he could count and Draco, for all his faults, had never pried into the reasons Theo showed up unannounced to stay for days at a time. There were plenty of people who would call Draco spoilt, and they wouldn't be wrong, but for all the things he owned, he'd never had a problem sharing them with Theo. From toys when they were little, to books and quills and, on occasion, his clothes. Draco was frivolous and ridiculous. But he wasn't a bad person.

Not really.

But could Theo really risk failure?

Draco may have chosen not to complete his task, but Theo…that wasn't something he was capable of doing.

He shakes his head, trying to rid himself of the confusion, and pushes into the boys dorm. The others are all already there. Theo had dawdled on his way down, lost in his thoughts as he was, and the other boys are all in various stages of packing their trunks.

All of them except Draco, who is sitting on the end of his bed staring blankly at his closed trunk. He looks up when Theo enters.

They stare at each other for a long moment and Theo's heart starts up again. It doesn't beat fast, but the steady rhythm intensifies against his chest.

'So,' says Draco, his voice deceptively light. 'Which one of you fuckers went through my things?'

He shifts his gaze away from Theo, glancing around at each of the others. Greg and Vincent both go still, staring at him with identical expressions of shock.

'Um, what?' asks Vince.

Greg frowns. 'We wouldn't go through your stuff, Draco.'

Draco merely raises an eyebrow and shifts his attention to Blaise. Blaise straightens, crossing his arms and leaning against the end of his bedpost.

'What makes you think one of us went through your stuff?' he asks, annoyance tinging his voice.

Theo can see the irritation surging through him at the accusation. Blaise thinks this is just another one of Draco's tantrums. Draco glares at him, his focus pin-pointing on the other boy.

'How else would something of mine end up in someone else's possession?'

'Look, don't blame us if you've misplaced something—'

Draco surges up from the bed, fury erupting over his face. 'Fuck you, Zabini! If you had _any_ clue of what you're dealing with—'

'I did it.'

The whole room goes quiet and it takes Theo a moment to realise that the words came from him. They all stare at him. Greg and Vince, lost in confusion. Blaise in surprise—no doubt that Draco wasn't overreacting. And Draco, in stunned disbelief.

'You…'

'I took the necklace,' says Theo, and he feels lightheaded for a moment, as if his whole body has suddenly become weightless from the confession.

'Wait—' Blaise starts, but Draco cuts him off.

'You went through my things?' Draco asks, eyes blazing.

'Yes.'

'Fuck, Theo. _Why_? What were you looking for?'

'Exactly what I found,' says Theo.

Draco gapes at him, shocked into speechlessness. For once. Then he yanks out his wand. In a flash, Theo has his own wand out.

Blaise, ever the mediator, steps forward, his hands outstretched. 'Wait, just wait a minute. Can we all just calm down?'

'What the _fuck_ were you thinking?' Draco snarls, his voice shaking, blue eyes bright with anger and betrayal and something else, something deeper and darker. Something that Theo recognises. Draco is afraid.

'Do you have any _idea_ what that was?' he asks. 'How dangerous it is?'

'Yes,' says Theo. 'I know what it was. And what you were supposed to do with it. What you _weren't_ doing with it.'

'So what? You thought you'd just do it for me, did you?'

'Someone had to.'

'That wasn't your decision to make!'

'No!' says Theo, and frustration breaks the strange calm brought on by his confession. 'It was _yours_. So why didn't you, Draco? What the fuck were you waiting for?'

'Fuck Theo,' Draco shakes his head. 'Did you ever think that maybe I was waiting for the right moment? This isn't a fucking game! This is serious. It has real consequences.'

'You think I don't know that?'

'No!' shouts Draco. 'I think it's pretty fucking obvious that you didn't. What if Brown had touched it? What if _Potter_ had?'

And suddenly, Theo realises exactly why Draco is afraid. It's not the mission, or the necklace, or even the chance of discovery.

What it comes down to, as always, is Potter.

Really, Theo shouldn't be surprised.

'That's what you're worried about?' he asks, and he almost wants to laugh. 'You've been shirking your responsibilities for _months_ , you're about to head home where you'll no doubt have to give a progress update, and instead of trying to _actually_ accomplish what you've been tasked with, you're pissed off because I almost hurt your precious fucking boyfriend?'

It's the wrong thing to say. He knows it the instant the words are out of his mouth, and it's only years of knowing Draco, of seeing how he operates, that allows Theo to throw up the shield in time. Draco's spell—nonverbal and invisible—slams into with with enough force to send Theo stumbling backwards.

'Whoa, whoa,' says Blaise, hastily yanking out his own wand. 'Draco, calm the fuck down.'

Draco ignores him, and before Theo even has a chance to recover, two more spells are thrown his way. A disarming spell, and a binding spell. Theo is frozen motionless where he stands, unarmed and undefended, with Draco's wand levelled at his face.

'You think I give a shit about Potter?' asks Draco in a low voice.

Theo clenches his jaw, and is surprised to find that he can still move his face. 'You seem to be pretty upset,' he says, and tries to wriggle a limb, any limb.

It's no use. Draco may have been spoilt, and self-involved, and arrogant. But there was a reason he was all those things. There was a reason, besides money, that he was at the top of the food chain in the Slytherin hierarchy.

'Because you went. Though. My. _Things_ ,' snarls Draco. 'Because what if you _had_ got Potter with that necklace? You think that accidentally offing Potter would make the mission easier? You think the security in this place wouldn't go up tenfold? Not to mention the fact that you'd bring the Dark Lord crashing down on _both_ our heads. You think he'd be _pleased_ if you killed Potter?'

Draco's voice cracks over that last sentence and Theo can see the faults in the facade. Despite that everything Draco is saying is true, despite that his words send Theo's heart hammering yet again (because what _would_ the Dark Lord do if Theo had killed Potter?), it's also a lie.

The surprising truth is that Draco doesn't _want_ Potter to die.

Well, Theo isn't going to suffer just because Draco can't work out where the fuck his loyalties lie.

'At least I _did something_ ,' Theo snarls. 'Unlike you. What's _He_ going to say about your pretty new friendship with Potter? Huh? You think your parents will be pleased? Or is that your aim, huh? Turn Potter into your pet and then hand him off when the time is right? It's a clever plan, Draco, but I'm not sure you have the nerve to pull it off.'

In fact, it _is_ a clever plan, if that actually was Draco's intentions—but somehow, Theo doubts it. Draco doesn't have the patience to pull it off. The only reason he would willingly spend as much time with Potter as he has been, is if he actually _wants_ to. Which could only mean that Blaise (with his stupid little bet) is right.

Theo starts to laugh.

Okay, so maybe pushing Draco's buttons about Potter isn't the smartest move on his part (especially pinned he is) but damnit, what the fuck kind of game did Draco think he was playing? _Befriending_ Potter when he's tasked with the mission of killing Potter's mentor? It's so absurd it's hysterical.

Draco growls, actually _growls._ The spell holding Theo snaps and he staggers forward, almost falling on his face. Draco turns abruptly and flings something vivd and red at the nearest bed. The room explodes into feathers and bits of tattered fabric.

'Fuck, Draco!' Blaise yelps, jerking back. 'Destroy your own fucking bed would you?'

The room goes quiet in shock and they all stare at Draco. At the destruction. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He's visibly shaking, his hand clenched around his wand so hard his knuckles are white.

Theo crouches down slowly to reach for his own wand, discarded on the floor, but in a flash Draco's wand is up and pointed at him again, the look on his face expressing clear enough that Theo is lucky that spell wasn't aimed at _him_.

'Whoa. I think we've—'

'Shut up, Zabini,' says Draco, his quiet and cold. 'Let me make this crystal clear. If anyone, ever, goes through my things again, a broken bed will be the least of your problems. And Nott? You have no fucking idea _what_ I'm planning. Stay the fuck out of my business.'

With that said, the blond boy stalks out of the room.

'Guess we won't see you at the Malfoy's Christmas dinner after all, eh?' says Vince nervously in the awkward silence that follows.

Greg sighs, shaking his head.

Theo just stares at him, dread sending his stomach into a freefall. Vince is right. He _can't_ go to the Malfoy's. That was clear enough.

Not only has he failed in his task, but he'll now have to spend the entire week with his father. No buffer, no friends, no escape. He swallows hard, his mouth going completely dry. The relief he had felt earlier—the certainty that he could keep this under control—is a distant memory.

All he can think is about is how monumentally screwed he is going to be.


	35. All I Want for Christmas

I debated with myself at length about whether or not to do a chapter in between the last one and this one; but in the end this felt right. I promise there will be more about what happened in the last chapter - just not yet :)

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Five

 _All I Want for Christmas_

 ** _Narcissa:_**

Something isn't quite right.

Every year Narcissa spends weeks preparing for Christmas, ensuring that every minute detail, every decoration, every event is planned to utter perfection; and every year she is rewarded with the praise and envy of her guests and friends. Most of all, she is rewarded with the happiness of her one and only son.

This year is no different. In fact, this year Narcissa has taken extra pains to ensure that everything is perfect, due to the fact—no, _despite_ the fact, that her husband currently resides in Azkaban. It would be the first Christmas they had spent apart since Draco was born.

The manor has never looked better. She pulls out all the stops, pulls every ornament, every bauble and string of lights from storage. All of Draco's old handmade decorations are strung throughout the house. Every family photograph proudly displayed amongst wreaths of perfectly blooming flowers.

Bella stands back and rolls her eyes, shaking her head at Narcissa's determination to leave no surface undecorated.

It was all for Draco.

While most children love Christmas, Narcissa has found that her son has a unique appreciation for this time of year. It's not just about the presents, no, but the _atmosphere_. The lights, the decorations, the snow, the laughter. When one is a witch or wizard, finding the magic in any moment is usually taken for granted, but not her boy. No, Draco _understood_ the magic of Christmas. He revelled in it.

Yet…yet something isn't quite right.

It's not the trees—placed strategically in every room—or the bright swaths of tinsel, or the charmed layers of snow that never melted despite the constant roaring of the fireplace.

Something isn't quite right with _Draco_.

Three days, three days he's been home and yet, Narcissa has hardly seen him. He mingles at the parties, polite and yet reserved. He holds himself back at dinner, smiling at all the right moments, but never in a way that reaches his eyes.

Most of all, though, it's his lack of wonder. There's no delight in his face as he watches a train trundle through the air above the dinning room table. No spark of appreciation at the intricate scenes of Christmas wonderlands depicted in the frosting on the windows.

Something is wrong.

At first, she thinks it is Lucius' absence.

She brushes a hand along the back of his head as he sits down at the table for Christmas lunch, smoothing down the loose strands of blond hair—so much like his father's—and drops a kiss on the top of his head.

'You know your father would want you to celebrate,' she says, moving to her own seat at the table.

Draco smiles wanly. 'I know,' he says. 'I am. Really.'

She purses her lips, unconvinced, but lets the matter rest. For now.

Of course, Draco misses his father, yet Narcissa senses some sort of conflict within him. With this in mind, her second guess is his mission.

She almost asks him, almost considers offering him some advice, but then Bella enters the room, and there's a flash of something she doesn't recognise in Draco's face when he looks up, a tightening of his jaw at his aunt's entrance that prevents her from speaking. At least in front of her sister.

Instead, she watches him, as the meal progresses. How he barely touches his food, picking at it without any enthusiasm. How he stares at the fire, completely unseeing, lost in some thought or other that—for the first time _ever_ —seems to be preventing him from even enjoying the splendour around him, let alone revelling in it.

Bella, of course, doesn't notice Draco's mood. After all, she barely knows him—or he her—and besides, Bella has never held that appreciation for the softer side of men and Narcissa is almost grateful that Draco's own child-like wonder has all but disappeared beneath the surface of his adult self. _Almost_.

'Draco,' says Narcissa as the meal finishes. 'Shall we go for our ride?'

He's starring out the window, his chin in one hand, the other idly swirling peas around his plate.

'Draco?'

He looks up, his expression far away. 'Hm? Oh,' he pauses a moment, eyes flickering back out to the window with weary trepidation. 'Do you...I know we always go after lunch but, do you think we could maybe go later?'

Narcissa blinks. 'Later?' she asks, stunned.

The ride through the gardens had been their Christmas tradition for years, ever since Draco had first laid eyes on an Abraxian horse and begged them to get one. He adored them, and was always the first to line up at the door after lunch, ready to go and see them.

'I'm just...a bit tired, is all. You don't mind, do you?'

'I confess I don't really understand. You love going for a ride,' she says, frowning at him in concern. 'Are you not well?'

'Merlin, Cissy, leave him be,' says Bella, rolling her eyes in amused disdain. 'Have you looked outside lately? It's no wonder that he doesn't want to go out in this weather.'

'That's what snow-spells are for,' says Narcissa tightly. 'We _always_ go for a ride around the gardens after Christmas lunch.'

Draco winces. 'Sorry Mum. I'm just not much in the mood.'

She places her knife and fork down on the plate. 'I see,' she says.

His face falls, the frown deepening across his features as guilt flashes through his eyes. Instantly, she regrets her tone.

'Well,' she says, adopting a bright smile, and she looks across at Lucius to get his attention. 'How about presents, then?'

'Presents?' asks Bella, brightening. 'Presents sound like a _fantastic_ idea.'

Draco gives his aunt a dubious look, but looks away quickly before she notices. 'Don't we usually do presents after dinner?' he asks.

'We're already altering the plan, so why not mix things up a bit,' she says, and offers Draco a warm smile, hoping to draw him out of this strange mood he's in. 'Do things different this year.'

He raises one shoulder in a shrug. 'Sure, I guess,' he says.

Bella claps her hands together. 'I think it's a _great_ idea,' she says, and bounds up from the table. 'Last one there is a rotten dragon's egg!'

Narcissa breathes slowly, keeping her posture still until she's sure she has a handle on her exasperation. Draco doesn't quite manage as well. He stares after Bella in a strange mixture of bemusement, irritation and—Narcissa frowns—fear?

No, she's being silly. Draco wasn't _afraid_ of his aunt.

She gets up, gesturing at Draco with a tilt of her head. He follows, trudging unenthusiastically into the lounge and over to the couch. Narcissa purses her lips.

She turns to the tree, large—but not overpoweringly so, decorated to just the right degree in traditional greens and reds and golds. She pretends not to notice Bella throwing herself casually into the chair by the fire. _Lucius'_ chair.

Narcissa claps her hands and Thistle appears at her elbow.

'Mistress called?' she says, and then (noticing the room they are in) jerks in surprise. 'Are we's preparing the presents already Mistress? Oh, should I call for dessert?'

Narcissa smiles and holds out a placating hand, forestalling the anxious elf before she can build herself into a frenzy. 'That won't be necessary, Thistle. We thought we might exchange gifts a bit earlier in the day this year. I hope we aren't putting you out,' she glances over at Draco and adds quietly. 'Truth be told, I'm rather hoping presents will cheer up Draco. He's not his usual self.'

Thistle's huge eyes dart over to Draco and her face goes grave. 'Of course, Mistress,' she says in a quiet voice. 'I's understands. Master always enjoys gift giving, we's shall do our best to cheer him up.'

With that said, Thistle snaps her fingers and two more house elves appear. 'Hot chocolates and eclairs, on the double,' she turns back to Narcissa and says in a stage whisper. 'They's be being Master Draco's favourites.'

Then she frowns, and waves her hands in Narcissa's direction. 'Sit, sit, I's get the presents ready.'

Narcissa's smile widens, and she does as she's bid, perching herself not on her usual chair beside Bella, but on the other end of the lounge where Draco is sitting. He has his chin in his hand again and is staring absently at the corner of the room. There's a small frown on his face, and Narcissa must fight the urge to reach over and smooth it away. Once he would have smiled at her attentions, but not now that he is almost grown.

While Thistle is organising the presents into several piles, the two house elves return, distributing the hot chocolates and eclairs that Thistle had ordered.

With a snap of her fingers, Thistle manoeuvres the piles before each of them and steps forward. 'Is you be's ready for gift giving now?'

Narcissa edges forward on her seat, casting a quick smile toward Draco. He smiles back at her, but it doesn't quiet reach his eyes.

'Yes,' says Narcissa, trying not to frown. 'We're ready, Thistle. I think this year we might skip the giving gifts, and just open our own.'

Thistle blinks her big eyes, glances over at Bella, and offers Narcissa a knowing nod. 'Of course Mistress,' she says, and quickly rearranges the piles. 'Alright, Master Draco, these be's your presents sir.'

Draco glances up from his eclair and blinks. Taking a deep breath—as if preparing for battle—Draco pushes up from the couch and approaches the presents.

'The one on top is from your father and I,' says Narcissa with a smile.

Draco nods.

There's none of the usual cheer in his face. None of the jittery excitement running through his movements as he reaches for the present at the top of the pile. Instead, he picks it up and returns to the couch and waits.

With a start, she realises he's watching her. Waiting for her to pick up his gift from her own pile. Though she'd told Thistle to skip their tradition of "giving" (knowing that it would not be the same with Bella there, and Lucius gone), Draco still wants to watch her open her gift, as he's always done.

She casts a quick glance over the pile, ignoring Bella as she tears into the small pile of carefully wrapped gifts (that Narcissa had _insured_ would be there) at her feet, and spots Draco's present sitting to one side. It's a large, rectangular box, and she picks it up, casting him a curious look.

His face gives away nothing.

'Merry Christmas, Mum,' he says softly, and hands her the second large box from his pile. 'I hope you like it.'

She smiles, leans over, and presses a kiss to his temple. 'Merry Christmas, my love.'

Bella squeals with delight over some gift or other, but Draco never looks away from Narcissa as she peels away the wrapping paper and lifts the lid of the box beneath.

'Oh,' she says, staring in surprise at the canvas placed carefully within the box.

She stares in wonder at the painting within.

'I know you don't really talk to—' Draco pauses, and cuts a quick look across to Bella. 'Anyway, I hope you don't mind. I just thought you might like it.'

She takes a deep steadying breath, prepares a smile, and turns to him. 'I love it,' she says, managing to keep the tears from her voice. 'It's beautiful.'

He smiles and for the first time all day, a little of the gloom washes away from his face. 'I'm glad,' he says, and gestures at the painting still in it's box. 'I was a little worried…'

'Oh darling, no,' she says, and reaches over to squeeze his hand. 'It's wonderful.'

She looks back down at the portrait of her and her sisters, clearly modelled off an old photograph from their youth—before their differences had torn them apart—and feels an odd mixture of emotions. It _is_ beautiful, and she _does_ love it. But a pang of regret wedges in her throat. Oh, Andromeda would know how to talk to Draco about whatever was bothering him. How she wishes she could floo her sister to ask for advice. But the mere thought of that is folly. Especially with Bella sitting across from her.

Shaking the melancholy memories away, she places the lid carefully back on the box and tucks it away beside her (out of Bella's sight). She turns back to Draco to find he's already opened her present. He stares at it for a long moment, before looking up at her with a frown.

'The house ring?' he asks.

She smiles at him. 'Not this house,' she says. 'Since you're almost seventeen now, I thought that you might like to have a place of your own. This is the Ward Key to Black Lane. It's yours.'

His eyes go wide. 'You…you're giving me a _house_?'

Narcissa laughs. 'Well, a flat, more like. It was mine when I was younger, given to me by my father when I left school. It's not big, mind. Only two rooms with a little kitchenette and a reasonably sized bathroom. But it's something of your own, to get you started when you finish school.'

Draco looks back down at the little box. 'Thanks, Mum,' he says, his voice ever so soft.

'Of course, don't think that we want you to _leave_ ,' she adds, hastily. 'You may stay at home as long as you wish. But I thought…well it might be nice for you to have somewhere of your own to escape to.'

She doesn't look at Bella. Doesn't think of what's to come. Doesn't even wonder what Lucius would say to her offering Draco an escape route. All she's doing is giving Draco some privacy. That's it. That's _all_.

Draco nods, still looking at the ring, an odd expression on his face.

Aware that the mood is swiftly slipping into something a little too serious, Narcissa shakes herself off and gestures to Thistle. 'Alright, then,' she says with a smile. 'How about the rest of the presents?'

Thistle starts handing out the gifts from each of the three piles. As Narcissa accepts the first from her own pile—a gift from the Parkinson's—she watches Draco out of the corner of her eye.

He takes the ring out of the box, studying it for a moment, before slipping it onto his finger. He stares at it, takes it back off, and slips it into his pocket.

Thistle holds a present out to him and steadily they all work their way through the gifts. Draco's pile is, as usual, the largest. He receives all sorts of gifts from his school friends and as Narcissa makes her way slowly through her own small pile, she watches the gloom settle back over him.

As if each gift of chocolate or quidditch related memorabilia, or knick-knack of some other is a shadow falling over him.

Thistle reaches for the last gift and pauses. 'This one has no names sir,' she says, holding it out to him with a little frown. 'There's no nasties on it, though.'

Draco eyes the rectangular box with a curious frown, accepting the heavy looking gift and turning it over in his hands to inspect. On one side is a hastily scrawled message in black ink, and when Draco's eyes fall on it, he stills, staring att he words in shock.

Narcissa shifts her weight, pretending to adjust her placement of opened gifts as she attempts to read the message.

 _Draco, saw these and thought of you. Don't be a sod, read them before you chuck them. Merry Christmas._

Narcissa raises her eyebrows, bemused by the unusual note. Draco just stares at it, stunned disbelief written all over his face.

'Draco?' asks Narcissa. 'Are you alright?'

'What?' he asks, gaze snapping up to her. 'Er, yeah. Yes. Sure. Why wouldn't I be?'

She raises her eyebrows. 'You don't seem to be opening your present?'

He looks back down at the gift, holding it between both hands as if it might break if he moves. He licks his lips. 'Uh, yeah,' he says.

Carefully, as if he's worried the whole thing might disappear, he unties the clumsily tied bow, edges a finger beneath the edge poorly wrapped paper and pries it loose. Paper crinkles away to the floor to reveal a brightly coloured box, illustrated with various depictions of stick figure people on the front.

Draco blinks, staring at the box in mute surprise. He turns it over and the confusion gives way to a smile. It's slow, at first, but as his gaze lingers over the box, it grows into a laugh.

'What is it, darling?' asks Narcissa, leaning over to get a better look.

Draco glances up, weighing the box between his hands again, and says (in a brighter voice than he's had in days), 'books.'

'That's a thoughtful gift,' she says. 'You do like to read. Who is it from?'

Curiosity nags at her, creeping up her spine, filling her with suspicion. While Draco _did_ enjoy reading, she had to wonder what was so special about these books that they'd brought forth such a smile, when all the other presents (like a _flat_ of his very own) had barely made a dent in his morose mood.

'A...a friend,' he says at length, dropping his gaze back to the books, eyes crinkled at the edges.

'Oh?' she presses, but he's too distracted.

He runs a finger along the half dozen books crammed into the box (strange and unfamiliar titles like _Matilda_ and _BFG)_ the smile on his face seeming to lift away the strange gloom of the day that he's been trapped in.

'Stupid sod,' he mutters to himself, just barely loud enough for Narcissa to hear, but—despite the insult, the word is full of fondness.

Narcissa blinks, realising with a start that it isn't the present itself that has lifted Draco's spirits, but rather the person _behind_ the gift.

He sets the box of books aside, placing it carefully on top of the pile of presents beside him, his hand lingering along the top of the box.

'Hey,' he says, and glances back at Narcissa, gesturing to the window. 'The storm has stopped. I think I'm up for that ride now, if you're still interested?'

Pulling her thoughts away from speculations on who could possibly be more qualified to raise his spirits than his own Mother, Narcissa puts on a bright smile.

'Of course, darling!' she says.

She glances across at Bella, who is lost amongst her own presents. 'Let's not disturb your Aunt,' she says in a stage whisper, and Draco grins back at her and nods.

Just like that, she has her boy back, and though she's relieved, she can't help but look back at the small box of books sitting on the couch, and feel a lingering tinge of jealousy.

She supposes, as they gather their coats and gloves and head out toward the stables, that the _why_ of the matter is a much easier question to ask. Books are not usually the sort of gift that draws a person out the kind of slump that Draco has been well and truly entrenched in. The only reason they _might_ do, however, is if the person giving the books is someone special.

Narcissa eyes Draco carefully as he trundles along beside her, eyes lifted up toward the sky, his nose already pink in the frosty air. He hasn't cast a snow repelling charm, instead letting the soft flakes fall down around his head to cluster on his collar and scarf. He lifts a hand and swirls it through the falling flakes, a smile playing on his lips.

Oh yes. She can definitely see it now. Now that the gloom has been washed away to be replaced by an entirely _different_ sort of Christmas magic. Whoever gave Draco the books, is a _girl_. A girl he's seeing.

Except, and she pauses in her speculations, falling a step or two behind him, why would he call a girl he's seeing, a jerk?

She frowns, contemplative, as they reach the stables. The horses are already prepared, Thistle having whisked out ahead of them to ensure the two mare's were properly sadeled and waiting by the time they make their way out.

Draco greets his mare with a soft smile, rubbing the side of her face and pressing his face close to her neck. 'Hello Winnie,' he says in a low, pleased voice. 'How are you today?'

Winnie turns her large, brown and white head to snuffle in his hair. Draco laughs.

'What do you think? Shall we go for a ride?'

She snuffles again, and stamps her feet.

'Alright, alright,' he says with a chuckle. 'Never mind the weather, aye? You're as bad as he is.'

Narcissa, already up on her own horse, glances across at Draco. He doesn't notice. He shuffles around in the straw, his feet scuffing along the stone beneath as he gives Winnie a good scratch along her neck. He presses his face in close to her neck and murmurs something into her fur.

Winnie turns to look at him again, impatience in her eyes and Draco grins. 'Alright, alright,' he says, and hauls himself up into her saddle.

He looks across at Narcissa and tilts his head toward the stable doors. 'Shall we?'

She nods and they head out into the softly falling snow.

Draco is once again lost in his thoughts, but this time the soft smile stays on his face. The jealousy in Narcissa's chest builds and, before she can help herself, she finds herself saying,

'So, Draco dear, what girl has caught your eye this year?'

If he was anymore startled, Draco would have fallen from his horse. As it is, he turns sharply, gaping at her in embarrassed surprise.

'Mum!' he squawks, his face flushing bright red. 'I…gees, you can't just _ask_ that.'

'Why not?'

'Because! Because I wasn't…it's not…Merlin,' he says, and runs a hand through his hair.

She raises an eyebrow, noting the action with interest. It wasn't one of his usual tics, and she wonders where ( _who_ ) he's picked it up from.

'What's so wrong about my knowing if anyone has caught your interest,' she asks, feigning insult. 'You can't expect me to believe that no one _has_. Is it so wrong for me to want to know a little more about your life outside of home? You've hardly spoken to me at all about school. Or, am I too old, now to be included? Is your mother no longer privy to the details of your life?'

'Mum,' he says heavily, and sighs. 'Of course not. I was just startled, is all. You didn't have to ambush me.'

'I didn't realise asking a simple question constituted as an ambush these days.'

He shoots her an exasperated glare. 'You know that's not what I meant.'

'How can I know anything when you won't talk to me anymore,' she says, and deliberately looks away from him toward the garden. 'Alright, what shall we talk about then? How about the snow roses? They're blooming beautifully this year.'

He groans. 'Mum…'

'Although I did contemplate having the gardner switch them out for something with a little more colour. A bit of contrast to all this white,' she says, gesturing around at the garden.

'You were right!' Draco says, jumping in hurriedly before she can continue. 'There is someone.'

Triumph bursts in her chest, but she doesn't let it show. 'Oh?' she asks. 'That's very interesting.'

' _Mum_ ,' he says again. 'Why do you have to do that?'

'Whatever do you mean?'

Draco rolls his eyes, 'Throw a tantrum,' he mutters.

'Malfoy's do not throw tantrums,' she says indignantly. 'Alright then, let me guess who it is? Pansy? Elanor? Oh the Greengrass girl, she's quite pretty.'

'Uh,' he says slowly, his gaze dropping away from her. He clears his throat and leans forward to give Winnie a scratch behind the ears. 'Actually, uh, he's not in my house.'

Draco continues to scratch Winnie behind the ears, refusing to look in Narcissa's direction as she digests his words. At first, surprise flows through her. Whilst it is not wholly unusual for Slytherins to date outside their own house (purebloods _do_ sometimes get sorted into other houses after all), it is rather unheard of amongst their social circles. Still, she supposes that this can make the options rather limited. She's just wondering who it could be, when the full weight of his statement hits her.

'… _he_?' she asks.

He nods, turning his face into his scarf so she can't quite see his expression. The faint red tinge to his ears is very telling, however. And of course. Of _course_ it's a boy. Draco's strange comment to Winnie before their ride; the messy scrawl of handwriting on the box of books that most certainly did not belong to a girl; the fact that Draco had called him a "stupid sod".

'Oh,' she says, somehow managing to keep her voice light. 'Well…that can't leave _too_ many options for me to guess from.'

'You won't guess,' he says, still with his face pressed into the scarf.

She blinks.

Beneath her, the gentle swaying of her mare's walk slows to a stop as her hands to slack on the reigns. Draco pulls up, glancing across at her nervously. He opens his mouth, closes it, looks away.

'He's a…a halfblooded?' she asks, hoping, _praying_ that the boy is at the very least a half-blood.

'Yes,' Draco whispers, his voice almost lost to the chilly air.

Suddenly, Narcissa is extremely grateful she had the wits to wait until they were alone before pressing him for answers. Unwittingly, she glances toward the house. Somewhere within her eldest sister lounged. Possibly tormenting Narcissa's staff and generally causing havoc. She swallows.

'I see,' she says, and tries to compose herself. 'Well, we're all allowed a little fun.'

She pulls herself together in time to offer Draco a warm smile when he looks up.

'Fun?' he asks.

'Of course,' she says. 'That's what school is for, dear. To meet new people, to discover what you like in a person. No one expects you to marry the first person you date.'

He frowns at her. 'Did you and father start dating in school?'

She waves a hand at him. 'Oh, that was different. Your father and I were intended. That's not to say that I didn't do a little shopping around myself.'

Draco flushes bright red, squeezing his eyes shut and shuddering. 'Ugh, Mum! That's not something I needed to know.'

She laughs. 'Well, I'm just making a point,' she says. 'It's perfectly fine to experiment.'

'Okay, we need to stop having this conversation,' he says.

She chuckles again. 'If you like,' she pauses, and then adds in a slightly more serious tone. 'Though, perhaps we keep this just between you and me, hm?'

He glances across at her, the furious blush dying off as the frown returns. 'Even though it's okay to experiment?' he asks pointedly.

'Well, we don't want anyone to get the wrong idea,' she says evenly. 'Experimentation is fine, so long as no one's feelings get hurt. Better not to let anyone think things have gotten too serious.'

He continues to frown, his gaze falling away from her again. 'You're…saying I should end it?'

'I'm saying, enjoy it while it lasts,' she says. 'No teenage romance lasts forever.'


	36. Winter Misgivings

Chapter Thirty-Six

 _Winter Misgivings_

 ** _Tonks:_**

The Burrow is a warm—if slightly wonky—beacon of light in the chilly December afternoon. Tonks' footsteps crunch in the freshly heaped snow, and she huddles down further into her winter coat.

She's not entirely sure why she's chosen to abandon her delightfully warm home and head all the way out here uninvited; only that her mother had made some crack about her moping and Tonks' had decided that she'd rather be anywhere else than endure yet another conversation about spending the holidays "alone".

The fact that Remus was spending Christmas at the Burrow was merely a coincidence. Really. After all, Potter was here too. As a member of the Order it was part of her duty to check in on him (not to mention that bet she had with Kingsley over the outcome of the Zoo excursion).

She's musing over how viable an excuse this is when she spots movement out of the corner of her eye. As if summoned by her very thoughts, Potter trundles out of the long grass in the field to Tonks' left.

She raises her eyebrows, surprised that he's been left to wander around in the dying afternoon light on his own. Then she shakes her head at herself. After all, he's sixteen not _five_ , he doesn't need to be supervised every minute of the day. No matter what Mad-Eye says.

Although, she thinks—eyeing off the threadbare shirt he's wearing, that perhaps someone should have made sure he was properly attired before he went wandering off into the snow.

She slows her pace, figuring they might as well go inside together, but he's so lost in his own thoughts, he doesn't see her until he's about three steps from running into her. He looks up and with a startled gasp, falls backwards a step.

She grins, and lifts a hand. 'Wotcher, Harry.'

'Tonks,' he gasps. 'Hey. Gees, you scared the shit outta me.'

She chuckles. 'I saw. You were off in a world of your own. Something on your mind?'

He shrugs, gaze darting away from her, like it always did when there was something he didn't feel comfortable saying. He reaches up to adjust his scarf—the only sensible thing he's wearing—and a faint red tinge crosses his face.

She decides to give him an escape route. 'So,' she says, turning back to the house. 'Get a good haul the other day? I heard even the Minister visited. Didn't realise he was doing personal deliveries this year.'

Potter's face darkens, and he turns to follow her with a scowl, shoving his hands back into his pockets. 'Yeah,' he says in a low voice.

She raises her eyebrows, but gives him a friendly nudge. 'Hey,' she says. 'I don't like him much either. He's a bit…self righteous.'

Potter snorts. 'Tell me about it. He asked me to "give him his support".'

She casts him a sidelong look. Of course, she already knew this, just like she'd known about the visit in the first place.

'Gosh, he must be desperate,' says Tonks. 'If he's knocking on the doors of sixteen-year-old school boys to ask for support.'

Potter shoots her a grin, and Tonks senses a touch of relief behind the expression. 'I gave him the flick,' he says.

'Bet he took that well.'

Potter shrugs again. 'Accused me of being Dumbledore's man,' he says, and a faint frown furrows his brow.

The words are said casually enough, but the phrasing piques Tonks' interest. The emphasis on _accused_ sets her mind wandering and Tonks has the amusing image of Potter giving both Scriminger and Dumbledore "the flick".

She almost chuckles, but one look at Potter's face, (at the lingering frown and the absent minded chewing on the corner of his mouth) gives her pause.

She tilts her head. Keeping her voice neutral and equable ( _"Never assume you know the mind of your opponent; and if you do assume, never show it."_ )—she asks, 'what did you tell him?'

Green eyes flick toward her, careful and assessing. She offers him an easy smile, face void of any expectation. As if his answer wouldn't bother her one way or another. As if they are talking about the weather and not whether or not he still believed in the leader of their cause.

His gaze shifts away from her and for a moment she thinks he's going to give her the brush off. He shrugs his shoulders up to his ears, shivering away the cold, and says in a low voice partially muffled by his scarf,

'I said I'm not.'

Tonks finds herself silently thanking her mother for driving her out of the house. She slows her steps, no longer eager to get inside out of the snow—hoping instead to prolong their conversation.

'Let me guess,' she says, playfully nudging his shoulder. 'You're your own man, right?'

He forces a return laugh that dies almost as soon as it starts, and Tonks worries that she's pushed it too far.

'Uh, sure,' he mutters, scratching at the back of his head. 'Something like that.'

Unable to think of a way to bring the conversation back to Dumbledore in a way that would tell her what she wants to know, Tonks lets the conversation fall flat.

To her surprise, Potter picks it back up. 'Do you…' he hesitates, the frown returning, making him look sullen and broody. 'You have to fight a lot of bad people as an Aura, right?'

'I guess so,' she says. 'I mean, mostly it's just picking people up and detaining them. Most people quiet down fairly quick when they see us. But I guess things have heated up a bit recently, so we're having to fight a bit more than we used to.'

'Have you ever had to fight someone you know?'

She shrugs, looking toward the house, her mind flashing back to the various run-in's she's had with school mates. 'Occasionally.'

'Does it ever…bother you?'

'Fighting people I went to school with?'

'Fighting them,' he says, hesitantly. 'And hurting them.'

She pauses, and though she's been watching him for most the conversation, she takes a moment to really look at him. At the tension in his shoulders and the way he's buried his face in his scarf. At that ever present frown that she realises is less brooding and more doubting. Self doubt.

'Yeah,' she says honestly. 'Sometimes it bothers me.'

He looks up at her, meeting her gaze properly for the first time since they'd run into each other. 'How do you do it?'

Tonks sighs and raises a hand to run through her hair. Without her even thinking about it, her hair shortens, the style coming up around her shoulders, a fringe bouncing into place just as her fingers rake through it. Almost as soon as the motion is over, it lengthens back out.

Potter blinks twice and gives himself a little shake. 'That was weird,' he says.

She chuckles. 'Sorry,' she says. 'Nervous tic. You ask hard question.'

He flushes and ducks his head. 'Sorry,' he says, turning to walk back to the house.

Tonks snags his arm, 'No, it's alright,' she says, pulling him to a stop. 'Look, I'm not gonna lie, some days it's hard. But you gotta push through it, do your job.'

That same flash of darkness crosses his face and Tonks instantly regrets her choice of words. She didn't mean _him_ of course. After all, she's always been a little doubtful the whole "Chosen One" thing. Did people really expect a sixteen-year-old to defeat He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? At least not until he was older. And she rather hoped they wouldn't be fighting this war for that long.

'I don't think I can,' he says quietly to the snow.

Tonks blinks, and it's as if her thoughts have once again personified themselves before her. Potter seems weighed down by the words, and Tonks can see all the expectations piled on top of him (the papers, the Ministry, _Dumbledore_ ), dragging him down.

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, mussing it up into disarray. 'Why does it have to be so fucking complicated?'

She laughs, surprised by the sudden outburst. 'Harry, mate, I think you just figured out the dilemma of every adult in the world. Look, no body starts out bad, you know? Sometimes they were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, or they got caught up with the wrong people, or they just changed. You have to find a way to reconcile that with the person who they used to be, because if you don't, someone might end up hurt. And you could've stopped it.'

Potter shifts. He rearranges the scarf around his neck again, staring at the ends of the knitted fabric.

'Has anyone ever…I mean, do you think that, if people can change—if they can become _bad_ …can people who have done bad things become good?'

The lightbulb that goes off in her brain does so with enough force that she almost smacks herself in the face for not seeing it sooner. Of course, _of course_ , Potter is worried about fighting classmates on the other side. He was dating one. Or at least (what with her bet with Kingsley) she _hoped_ he was.

At the very least, it was obvious to anyone with eyes (especially _now_ ), that he had a very prominent crush on one.

'I think,' she says, choosing her words carefully. 'That no one is inherently good or bad. Some people just make worse choices than others. Well, except old Snake-Face. He's as evil as they come.'

Potter snorts again. 'No kidding,' he says, but he seems more contemplative. 'I just don't want hurt someone, really hurt them, just because they got stuck making the wrong choices. Or had their parents make bad choices for them.'

She turns to face him and waits until he's looking at her before she says, 'If you have to really hurt people to beat _him_ , is it really winning?' she gives his shoulder another nudge. 'Besides, you've done alright with stunners and disarming spells so far. Why change things now?'

He grins at her, but there's a shadow beneath his expression. One that she recognises. One that only comes when a person has faced true pain. When they're afraid they'll face it again.

'Yeah, I guess,' he says though he doesn't sound convinced.

He starts back toward the house, closing the last little bit of distance between them and the back door, his footsteps trudging loudly in the snow. Tonks stays where she is. She's mulling over their conversation, debating whether or not she should even bother going in or report back to Kingsley.

Though, it made her feel strange to be reporting on a teenage boy's crush, but it _was_ Draco Malfoy, after all and with the doubts that Potter had expressed…

'You coming in?'

She looks up. Potter is standing in the open doorway frowning at her. Behind him, several faces peer out in curiosity.

'Sorry,' she says with a smile and jogs to catch up. 'Lost in thought.'

Kingsley could wait.

Potter wasn't switching sides—regardless of whoever he had a crush on—he just didn't want hurt anyone; and there was certainly no crime in that.

 ** _Snape:_**

Severus hadn't planned on spending the last day of the Christmas break at Spinner's End. In fact, he hadn't planned on stepping foot in the place until the end of the school year.

He spends his day waiting, growing increasingly impatient as he thinks of the various, much more productive, things he could be doing rather than pacing the small front room of his mother's house. Such as grading papers, stocking up on supplies, ensuring the duelling dummies have all had their spells reworked, keeping Albus Dumbledore alive.

He scoffs at that last one, rolling his eyes as he makes yet another turn of the room, infuriated by the fact that the man refuses to ask Poppy for help with the curse afflicting him. Oh no, not _Albus Dumbledore_ , he can't ask for help. He'll just suffer in silence, expecting Severus to ply him with potions—heedless of the fact that Severus doesn't _have_ a potion in his repartee that can save him.

'Gryffindor's and their bloody self-righteous martyrdom,' he mutters, and glowers at the fading sun outside his window. 'Where _is_ that woman?'

He's left to stalk about the house in this manner for another hour before he hears the knock on the front door.

Already at the end of his patience, he yanks open the door to glare into the face of Narcissa Malfoy.

'You're late,' he barks, and steps back, allowing her entrance into his house.

She raises an eyebrow at him, stepping across the threshold with the same poise and dignity as she had almost six months ago. Although this time she is, mercifully, alone.

'You'll note,' she says in that prim, aristocratic voice that all the Malfoy's pulled off so well, 'that my letter never specified a time.'

He scoffs, and glances out into the street behind her, ensuring that there is no sign of Narcissa's older, less hinged, sister. 'Unlike you, I don't have time to wait around on the whims of others. Well, at least you're alone this time,' he says, just to confirm (one can never be certain when it came to Bellatrix Lestrange).

'I'm alone,' she says. 'I won't be long.'

'Good,' he says impatiently, gesturing to the couch. 'I've been here too long as it is. What's this about?'

She turns to face him, ignoring the couch, and says in an even, deceptively calm voice. 'It's Draco.'

His muscles tense, though the answer isn't wholly unexpected. There are few reasons that Narcissa Malfoy would owl him to meet her alone on the last day of Christmas Holidays, and they _all_ pertained to her son.

'What's happened?' he asks, trying and failing to keep the whipcrack edge out of his voice.

He can't help it. Draco's refusal to even _allude_ to his mission in Severus' presence has made it extremely difficult to gather any intel on what the boy is planning. _Not_ a desirable outcome when Draco's mission directly affects both Severus' roles as spy.

If there was one thing Severus detested it was an unknown factor.

'Draco is okay,' she says, and Severus doesn't miss the fact that she didn't answer his question. 'Well, Draco is as okay as he can be.'

Severus narrows his eyes. 'Get to the point.'

She purses her lips. 'You're a good godfather,' she says slowly, her gaze shrewd and unblinking as she watches for his reaction. 'A good mentor. But there have always been…rumours.'

He clenches his jaw, staring hard at her, wondering if she's really asking _that_ question. 'Rumours?' he repeats flatly. 'I thought we covered rumours when you came to visit with your sister?'

She dips her head in agreement. 'The thing is, Severus, she wasn't convinced. And neither am I. In fact, I never have been, I just never asked before.'

'And are you asking now?'

She tilts her head and offers him a sardonic smile. 'No,' she says. 'I never asked because I never wanted to know the answer. I still don't. Whatever your loyalties may be, I do believe you're fond enough of Draco to do right by him.'

Relief, frustration and annoyance mingle into an unpleasant sensation in his chest. He resists the urge to roll his neck and ease away the tension. He cannot let her see his discomfort.

'So then,' he asks, his voice coming out cold and brisk. 'What _precisely_ is it that you want from me?'

'What I want,' she says, her gaze steady on him, her voice even, 'is for you to convince Draco, when the time is right, to go to Dumbledore.'

Shock radiates up through his spine and he stiffens, unable to help the stunned expression working onto his face.

'Dumbledore?'

She nods. 'Yes,' she says. 'I want Draco to tell him about his task, to help him find a way out of it.'

'Have you gone _mad_?'

'No,' she says, shaking her head and smiling. Actually _smiling_. 'No. For the first time in several months I feel as if I am quite sane.'

'You're asking me to help your _only_ son turn against you?'

'No,' she repeats. 'I'm asking you to _save_ my son from turning against us.'

He frowns and shakes his head. 'This is madness,' he says. 'Draco would never be swayed against you. He's a Malfoy.'

She takes two steps forward, looking up at him with fierce, sharp eyes. 'When my son came home for Christmas, he was not himself. He hasn't been himself for months. Not since _He_ gave Draco that _impossible_ task.'

'While I'll grant that it will be difficult—'

'Don't patronise me!' she snaps, turning away. 'I know what this was. Lucius' punishment for failing to get the prophecy. Well I won't sit idly by and watch my son become someone else's pawn in this _ridiculous_ war.'

Severus gapes at her. 'You realise what you're saying is…is treason?'

She barks out a harsh laugh. 'The Dark Lord isn't King, Severus.'

'Narcissa,' he says, enunciating very clearly. 'You do realise what you're asking me could get not just both of us killed, but also Draco himself.'

'Yes,' she says. 'But so could leaving him as he is.'

'What are you talking about?'

'Draco is not capable of completing his task,' she says.

Severus frowns. 'If you recall, the whole reason I took an _unbreakable vow_ , was to—'

'Let me rephrase,' she says, cutting him off with a wave of her hand. 'Draco does not _want_ to complete this task. It's not in him.'

'He's told you this?'

'No, but I'm his mother, this is something that I know,' she says, and she turns back to him again. 'Draco's priorities have shifted, Severus. He's _changed_. He cannot do this. And I cannot ask him to. I cannot make him do this. He will resent us for the rest of his life and I can't…I can't let that happen.'

'So you'd rather push him into the arms of the enemy?'

'I would rather he didn't hate me,' she says.

'Draco would never hate you,' says Severus, and of all the things that have been said so far, that is the only thing he is certain of. 'He loves you.'

'And if he loves someone else more?' she asks, her expression morphing into one of desperation. 'Am I to make him choose?'

Severus blinks. 'Loves?'

'Yes, Severus, _love_. Love makes people do things they wouldn't normally do. It _changes_ them.'

'You think Draco is _in love_?' Severus asks, and can't quite keep the incredulity out of his voice. Or the contempt.

She pauses, her gaze shifting, growing distant. 'No,' she says. 'I don't think so. At least not yet.'

'And who, pray tell, _is_ this mystery girl?' he asks, his voice taking on a sarcastic edge, frustration at having given up his last day of freedom for this absurd notion of Draco's "new love". 'Because as far as I'm aware he doesn't _have_ a girlfriend.'

Narcissa raises an eyebrow at him, feigning surprise. 'I wasn't aware his dating life was something he discussed with you.'

Severus frowns. 'Of it's course not. But I always know what's going on with my students. I assure you, I may not be very approachable, but I have ways of ensuring I known whats going on.'

'And I know my son!' she bites back. 'There _is_ someone and his feelings _have_ changed him. All week I have watched him grow more distant and ill at ease. I tried to advise him, but all I did was push him further away. He's has _changed_ , Severus.'

'He hasn't changed,' says Severus dismissively. 'He's preoccupied. He hasn't made any progress. If he would only _talk_ to me about his task—'

'Oh for the love of Merlin would you forget about that blasted task for one minute?' she bursts out, and a painting falls from the wall, landing with a heavy thud on the floor. Narcissa doesn't pause. 'It's not about that. Yes he's worried about the task but not because he doesn't know how to complete it, but because he doesn't _want_ to.'

'Because of this school yard crush?'

'Don't sneer at me, Severus,' she snaps. 'You of all people should know how long a "crush" can burn.'

His mouth snaps shut and unexpected fury surges through him at the implication. She raises her chin, her expression taut and defiant.

'There _is_ someone. And the fact that he wouldn't tell me who it is; the fact that he only grew _more_ distant when I advised him to end things...that tells me everything I need to know.'

She pauses, taking a steadying breath, and steps back towards him.

'Draco means more to me than any war,' she says and takes Severus' hands in her own, squeezing them hard, as if she can convey the depth of her worry through their hands. 'His heart is conflicted. He wants someone he knows he shouldn't and he is afraid. Afraid of what we'll say, of what we'll do, afraid of his own feelings. And maybe that fear will keep him grounded, maybe it will keep him safe with us, with me,' she shakes her head, her voice growing soft. 'But if it does, he will resent us forever. I have seen what becomes of those who choose the dark over their hearts, Severus, and I _do not_ want that for my son. If you value his life, please, you will do this for me. Take him to Dumbledore.'

Severus is quiet a long time. 'Dumbledore isn't a god. He is infallible. You may not want his protection for your son.'

'Then you protect him,' she says. 'You make sure he has the chance to choose what is right for _him_. Even if that means he doesn't choose us.'

'You really think his feelings are so strong for this girl?'

A strange smile crosses her face that is part wry amusement and part despair. 'I know only two things about the person Draco is seeing,' she says, and she pauses, once again giving him that shrewd expression, assessing him before she gives her answer. 'Whoever it is who has captivated my son, isn't one of your Slytherins. He is a halfblood boy.'

From the expression on her face, Severus knows that she thinks she's won. That he'll do her bidding and protect Draco not only from his task, but from the Dark Lord's sights. That he'll turn Draco over to Dumbledore and the Order. She thinks she's reminded him of his own past, what with that earlier dig about school crushes. She'd set him up for this, primed him so that, with this last revelation, he would be ready to agree.

Oh, she was good. No wonder she was a Malfoy. He glowered at her, knowing she had him. Knowing she knew she had him. Severus didn't have a choice. For Draco to admit, even to his mother, that he had feelings not only for a boy, but a _halfblood_? It was inconceivable. Worse, if it was true, then Draco was in very real danger.

He felt his face twist into a scowl, furious and frustrated. 'Fine,' he growled, pulling his hands free from her grasp. 'Fine.'

She lifted her chin, a strange smile lifting her lips—part victory and part loss.


	37. Letters

**A/N:** I had originally intended to use a fair bit of strikethrough on this chapter; but FFN doesn't allow for that. Instead, I'm going to underline and bold everything that's meant to have a strikethrough, so if it **looks like this** please pretend it's been crossed out.

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Seven

 _Letters_

 ** _One:_**

 **Dear Harry.**

 **Dear Potter.**

 **Dear Harry Potter.**

 **Potter.**

 **Oh for fucks sake just write the damn thing!**

Harry,

 **Things have gotten too far—**

 **Since I obviously can't trust myself around you—**

Thanks for the books, and sorry I didn't get you anything. **Though, it's probably for the best. Look, this really _does_ have to stop.** I know you think this'll all somehow work out, but **I'm not convinced** I don't see how it can. **I've been reminded recently of my duties.**

 **THIS SUCKS.**

 **My mother says I have to stop seeing you.**

 **Look, Potter, kindly fuck off out of my brain so I can stop thinking about you and end this ridiculous relationship, yeah? Dear Merlin I am fucking pathetic.**

Things to include in this stupid letter:

\- We can't keep doing this.

\- I'm sorry.

\- I know you'll argue with me **and I don't think I can resist you in person,** which is why I'm doing this via letter.

\- I mean it this time.

\- **I hope we can still be friends. I don't want to go back to being enemies.**

 **\- Please don't hate me.**

\- Thanks for the books. **They were my favourite present.**

Harry,

Thank you for the Christmas present. It was very kind.

Unfortunately, I will have to return it as it would be unconscionable for me to accept considering the rest of the contents of this letter.

During my time away from Hogwarts and you I've had some clarity. Whatever this is we've been doing, while enjoyable, needs to end. I know I've said it before, but this time I mean it. I think you know that I'm right. I'd appreciate it if we could keep things civil in class as I've enjoyed working with you seeing as we must continue working together. I hope am sure you understand.

Sincerely,

Draco.

 ** _Two:_**

Draco,

 **Are you fucking serious? A letter? You're breaking up with me via letter? Except, I suppose you're not really, because you never let me get close enough—**

 **If this is about the tattoo, you know I don't care. I've never cared. Stop being such an obnoxious ass—**

 **Fuck civil. Why would you do this? Why do you have to ruin everything? I hate you.**

 **Why are you doing this?**

 **Sincerely? SINCERELY? What the fuck is wrong with you? Did you get hit on the head or something? Did you-**

Draco,

 **Kindly take your "unfortunate", "sincere" apologies and shove them up your fucking—**

Please don't do this. I know you're worried. I know you think this is wrong **and sure maybe you're right,** but I don't care. You're the one constantly telling me to stand up for what I want and what I want is you. I can't explain it. I can't justify it. I just want you **and I know you want me too, or at least I hope you do.**

 **UGH. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck.**

 **WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?**

 **Is it me? Is there something wrong with me?**

Draco,

I don't understand where this is coming from? I thought we were good? **I know I'm not exactly**

If it's about all that other stuff, it doesn't matter, not to me. Please don't do this.

Harry.

P.S

I don't want the books back. **I can't bear it**. I bought them for you.

 ** _Three:_**

Harry,

 **Don't be an idiot.** You know where this is coming from. I've been saying this from the start. From before the start. You know this can't last. How can it? **You're the hero. I'm the bad guy.**

 **You don't even know what I've done. What almost happened because of me. That necklace that Brown had, if you'd touched it, if you—**

How can it "not matter"? Especially to you?

Harry,

I'm sorry if I've caused you any distress, but my mind is made up. There are things you don't know. Things you don't understand. Things you'd hate me over if you knew.

Sincerely,

Draco.

 ** _Four:_**

Draco **is a fucking asshole.**

 **I'm SO glad you're sorry. Thanks for that. Makes it all better, you complete and utter WANK**

 **Would you quit it with the fucking formality? Who the fuck talks like that? You've had your tongue down my throat I hardly think you need to**

Draco,

If I don't understand, then explain it to me. **Please.**

Harry.

 ** _Five (unsent):_**

Harry,

 **I can't. You'd tell Dumbledore. You'd hate me, and I don't want—**

 **Potter, stop fucking writing me, this is over.**

I need to protect my family. That's all you need to know. Just let it go, Potter.

 **Draco, stop fucking answering him, you pathetic, pinning, prat.**

 ** _Six:_**

Draco,

 **Oh so now you're just going to ignore me? That's real mature. Well fine. Don't expect me to be civil. Don't expect me to be anything. You're an asshole, you know that? You're a fucking**

Draco,

 **You think I don't realise what's going on? I know you have some sort of task to do. I know you think you have no other choice. But what if you do? What if I can help you? I'm not asking you to change. I'm not asking you to abandon your parents. I'd never do that. Just…don't shut me out.**

Draco,

I trust you.

Harry.

 ** _Seven:_**

Draco,

Please talk to me.

Harry.

 ** _Eight:_**

Draco,

 **I'm not letting this go. I can't. I'm too invested. It's your fault. You shouldn't have shown me you're a good person, underneath it all. I know you wouldn't hurt anyone. Or at least you wouldn't hurt me. I know you, Draco. I know you want this. Why can't you just admit that you want this? Screw everyone else. Screw—**

 **I get that you're in an impossible situation and I don't expect you to change sides. Though I wish you would. What is it about them? Do you really agree with everything they're doing? You're not like them. So why? Why do you**

 **Sometimes I think about running away. If I did, would you come with me?**

Draco,

I'm not giving up. I won't let you ruin this.

Harry.

 ** _Luna:_**

The library is hushed and soothing, a welcome change to the loud and somewhat overwhelming raucous energy cascading down the halls of Hogwarts in the wake of returning students. Luna sighs, stretching out her hands to run the tips of her fingers along the spines of the books that are more friends to her than most the students in her year.

She starts to hum, closing her eyes, but she stops, eyes flying open again when she hears a mewling, anguished cry, followed by a muffled thump. Images flash through her mind—a crying kitten, a hungry child, a wolf howling it's despair at the moon, a lovesick man waiting for…what?—and before she can reel her imagination back in someone is brushing past her, storming off through the aisles with barely a muffled apology.

A flash of pale white hair, and the smell of citrus and honey and ink all hits her at once and she turns, blinking in surprise as she watches Draco Malfoy storm off toward the exit, an unexpected sheen to his pale blue eyes.

She brows furrow and her hands find their way absently to the small braid in her hair, where she's wound a charm that doesn't quite seem to be doing it's job. She'll need to make a new. Something stronger, and more permeating to break through the stubborn haze that seems to be clouding the minds of Hogwarts students. Perhaps something with lavender or rose or—?

A bright splash of colour catches Luna's eye and she turns, spying the corner of a red, leather bound book beneath the nearest shelf of tomes.

'Oh, poor little thing,' she says, crouching down to pick it up. 'What're you doing way down there on your own?'

Despite the loneliness beneath the shelf, the little book seems none the worse for wear and she dusts off the cover, admiring the bright green and silver cord that keeps the pages bound tight.

'Such a pretty thing,' she says, gliding a hand down the soft, well worn spine. 'And much loved. Though…you don't have a name.'

She tilts the book this way and that, but no, there's definitely no title. She flicks it open. A journal?

'No, not quite a journal,' she says, peering at the first page. 'A book of letters.' Her eyes catch the familiar scrawl of elegant handwriting and she knows, despite there being no name printed on beneath the "this book belongs to" marker, exactly who this book belongs to.

She smiles, closes the books, and runs a fond hand back over the spine, glancing back down the aisle, the delicious scent of citrus still tickling her nose.

'Don't worry,' she whispers down at the little book. 'I'll get you back to your owner. I'm sure he's missing you. And we don't want him to miss anything more than he already is.'

She tucks the book away into her bag, giving it a soft tap after she's closed the flap. She takes a deep breathe, and the citrus smell vanishes to be replaced with the soft, musky smell of cold air and feathers and seeds. All at once she wants nothing more to be up somewhere high, to feel the cool air kissing her nose and to stare out at the pale blue sky from a cosy hideaway.

She beams.

'I hope you don't mind a detour first, little book,' she says, her footsteps light as she heads out of the library. 'But I have a feeling that you're important to more than _one_ person. And mother did say to always trust your feelings.'


	38. Doing Just Fine

Chapter Thirty-Eight

 _Doing Just Fine_

 ** _Katie:_**

The blast of fresh air nips at her nose, delightful in it's coolness after a day of rigorous study indoors. Snow crunches under her feet and Katie feels a burst of restless energy surge through her as she heads down to the Quidditch pitch. With her NEWTs fast approaching she hasn't been able to get in as much practice as everyone else (much to Ron's disgust as he loudly tells her every chance he gets).

Though, Katie supposes she can't complain too much. It was Ron's berating of her that prompted his sister to suggest getting together for their own little practice sessions when Katie's schedule allowed.

As she heads on out to the pitch she spies a figure standing out in the snow and grins, glad that Ginny is already waiting for her.

A muffled _thwack_ echoes over the grounds, oddly muffled in the falling snow. She sees a small ball go flying across the pitch, and frowns. Why on earth was Ginny working with the bludgers?

Except, as she nears the figure, she realises that it's _not_ Ginny.

'Er, hey Harry,' she says, staring at her captain with raised eyebrows.

'Hey,' he grunts, not looking at her as he swings the bat at the approaching bludger.

It makes solid contact, and the small but dangerous ball goes flying off again. He must of charmed them to return, because not a moment later it's flying back toward him.

'I'm uh, just waiting for Ginny,' she says, though he hasn't asked. 'We're going to get in some practice. Since I haven't been able to attend a lot this week.'

'Hm,' he says, and the bludger goes flying again.

She bites her lip, worry niggling at her as he all but ignores her. Was he angry that she had been missing practice? An awkward silence stretches between them, and she shuffles her weight from foot to foot.

'I didn't know you were considering being a beater,' she says, if only to break the silence.

'I'm not,' he says. _Thwack_.

'Oh. So…just practicing for fun then?'

'Nope.' _Thump._

'Oh…' she frowns at him.

He must be freezing. For whatever reason he hasn't bothered with his Quidditch gear, standing instead in a pair of jeans and a thin, threadbare shirt. He brings the bat back into position, gaze never wavering from the bludger off in the distance. He's pale, but then he's standing half frozen in the snow so that doesn't really surprise her.

'Uh, are you okay?' she asks.

'Fantastic,' he grunts.

'Cool…okay,' she says. 'Just, uh, you seem sort of—' _crack_. '—stressed.'

'Do I?'

The answer is clearly sarcastic, and he almost stumbles with the force of the next hit. He's out of breath and panting, his flushed face standing out against the paleness of his skin.

'You…uh…wanna talk about it?' Katie asks.

'Nope.'

'Right. Er, okay then. Well, I'm just gonna go get ready, then.'

'Hm.'

He still doesn't look at her and she can only hope that it's not her. While she and Harry have never been great friends, she'd like to think they got on well enough. After all they'd been playing Quidditch together for six years.

She shakes her head and tries to put it out of her mind. Despite the way everyone else behaves, what Harry thinks of her isn't her problem. She can deal with one brooding sixth year being PO'ed with her. Besides, she has far more important things to worry about. Like her NEWTs exams.

She sighs and starts going over her notes for Astrology in her mind.

When she comes back out Ginny is here, making her way through the snow toward Harry. Katie grimaces and, with a resigned sigh, sets back off across the snow. Maybe Ginny can figure out why Harry is so angry with her.

'—something going on?'

'Why would there be something going on?' asks Harry, still in that same low, sarcastic voice.

'Because you're standing out here in the freezing cold hitting bludgers,' says Ginny dryly. 'C'mon Harry, somethings obviously got you worked up. Tell me what's wrong.'

He turns suddenly. 'What's wrong? What's wrong is I just got dumped, okay? Except, we weren't ever really together, were we? So I wasn't actually dumped I was just…rejected.'

He turns away from Ginny and swings hard. The bat connects and the sound that echoes out across the pitch is concussive. The bludger explodes. Katie flinches even though she's standing several feet away.

Then worry spikes and she races forward.

'Fuck!' Harry yells, turning and tossing the bat away across the field.

'Bloody hell, Harry,' Ginny exclaims.

'Are you guys okay?' Katie calls, jogging toward them.

'I'm okay,' says Ginny, glancing over at her briefly before her gaze goes back to Harry.

Katie stares at him, shock still surging through her, the cold air making her breathless.

'I— Sorry,' he says, ducking his head. 'I'm sorry.'

'Feel better now?' Ginny asks dryly.

He shuffles his feet in the snow. 'A bit, actually,' he says honestly, and then drops his gaze again. 'I really am sorry. I didn't mean it.'

'Well I didn't think you did it up on purpose, but seriously Harry,' she shakes her head. 'You've got to get a handle on this.'

He winces. 'I know,' he says quietly. 'I was just…' he sighs and runs a hand over his face.

'Did you talk to—' Ginny cuts herself off, glancing sideways at Katie.

'There's no point,' says Harry, that broodiness creeping back into his expression. 'He's made it pretty clear he doesn't want anything to do with me.'

Katie blinks. _He_? Harry is upset because he got rejected by a boy? She stares at the two of them, stunned that they're even talking about this in front of her.

Ginny looks like she wants to say something, but her eyes flicker over to Katie and she chews on her lip. Katie realises that they think she doesn't know what they're talking about. She was still walking over to them when Harry mentioned being rejected. They don't realise she heard the conversation.

She swallows, and busies herself with looking through the Quidditch equipment box for the quaffle.

Ginny steps forward and gives Harry a brief hug. 'I'm sorry,' she says in a soft voice.

He shrugs her away, glancing sideways at Katie. 'Yeah,' he coughs and clears his throats. 'Uh, thanks. I should…I should probably go.'

'Try not to blow anything else up,' says Ginny, shoving Harry's shoulder playfully.

'Yeah,' he says sheepishly and runs a hand through his hair. 'Sorry. Again. It's been a shitty few days.'

'I know,' says Ginny, smiling softly at him.

He trudges away through the gentle flurries of snow.

'So,' says Ginny turning back to face Katie. 'Now that we've been traumatised by our captain, want to get this practice started?'

Katie glances after Harry. 'Uh, yeah. Sure. Hey, is he okay?'

Ginny shrugs. 'He'll be fine. He's just brooding is all.'

Katie raises her eyebrows. 'I didn't know that…' she trails off, biting her lip.

Ginny looks at her, cocking her head. 'Didn't know what?'

Katie shakes her head and rubs her hands together. 'Nothing,' she says. 'It doesn't matter. Let's get up in the air before we freeze.'

Ginny grins. 'Hell yeah.'

Katie smiles and throws her leg over her broom, balancing the quaffle in her hand. Best to just forget she ever heard that conversation. At least she now she knows that Harry isn't upset with _her_.

 ** _Blaise:_**

The door slams open and Draco stomps in with his usual scowl, looking a bit less pristine than usual. In fact, he looks exhausted, and Blaise wonders how much sleep he's been getting. He's been late into the dorm every night since they got back from Christmas break, and according to Greg he's gone in the morning before six.

Blaise had thought it was something to do with the fight Draco and Theo had—seeing that Draco has ignored all of them ever since it happened. Yet now, as Draco trudges over to his bed, rubbing his eyes and looking like he could sleep for months, he wonders if there's something else going on.

Draco drops his bag by the end of the bed and then collapses face first into his pillow without even bothering to pull shut his curtains.

Blaise raises an eyebrow. Across from him, Greg pauses in his mission to demolish a bag of marshmallows and frowns at his long-time friend. Vince, on the other hand, doesn't even look up from the latest edition of _Robeless_ that he's been drooling over for a solid hour.

Blaise catches Greg's eye and tilts his head toward Draco. He doesn't bother trying to get Vince's attention (or Theo's, who aside from being engrossed in an essay, hasn't even looked at Draco since The Fight).

Greg glances at Draco's prone form and sighs. 'Er, Draco?' he asks. 'You okay?'

Blaise gives him a thumbs up. Greg flips him off. They both wait for the inevitable explosion of Malfoy temper. Except…instead of bursting up out of bed to rant and rave about whatever injustice has befallen him, Draco merely rolls over to stare up at the canopy of his bed.

'I'm fine,' he says, tone despondent.

Greg shrugs. 'Okay,' he says complacently, the bag of marshmallows crinkling as he digs back through it.

Blaise makes a face him. He tilts his head back at Draco and gestures for him to keep going.

Greg rolls his eyes but gives in. 'Just, uh, it doesn't seem like you're okay.'

Draco closes his eyes. 'I'm fine,' he repeats, sighing.

Greg shrugs at Blaise. Blaise jerks his head toward Draco. Greg shakes his head and points back at Blaise. Blaise makes a face and mouths "best friend", pointing at Greg. Greg glowers.

'So,' he says, and clears his throat. 'Uh, what happened? You want to talk about it?'

'Does it look like I want to talk about it?'

'Er, no.'

'Then fuck off. I said I'm fine.'

'Now that we've established that Malfoy is _fine_ ,' Theo sneers, 'maybe you could all shut up? Some of us are studying.'

Blaise sighs. He and Greg both glance over at Draco, but, surprisingly, Draco doesn't even bother responding.

Blaise snorts. 'Oh sure,' he mutters sarcastically, 'you're fine. Nothing is bothering you _at all_.'

Silence falls as Draco refuses to rise to the bait. Blaise drums his fingers across the front cover of the book he'd been trying to convince himself to study.

'I saw Potter earlier today,' says Vince out of no where.

Blaise raises an eyebrow and glances over at him. He's still perusing his magazine, but now his gaze keeps flicking over to Draco.

The jibe works. Draco tenses, grabs his pillow and pulls it over his face.

Vince pretends not to notice. 'Seemed pretty upset,' he continues. 'Guess Perfect Potter isn't so perfect.'

'Who gives a fuck,' Draco growls into the pillow.

'Ah,' says Blaise. 'Well that explains it. You and Potter are on the outs again.'

It doesn't really make sense, but it has the desired reaction. He presses the pillow into his face and lets out a frustrated yell (muffled by the pillow)

Theo sighs loudly. 'You know,' he says. 'If you're planning on suffocating yourself there are more effective—and less disruptive—ways of doing it.'

Draco sits up, throwing the pillow aside and glowering at Theo. 'If I wanted an expert opinion on how to off myself I'd ask you,' he snarls in a particularly cutting voice. 'But for now I'd prefer if you'd kindly mind your own fucking business.'

Theo looks up from his essay with a narrowed gaze. 'Then maybe keep your emotional outbursts to yourself.'

'I'm not the one who—' Draco cuts himself off. 'You know what? I don't fucking care. I don't care about you and I don't care about fucking Potter.'

He yanks out his wand. Theo flinches, but Draco isn't pointing it at any of them. He flicks his wand at his curtains and they swish shut around his bed, the obvious quiet of a silencing charm going up following on it's heals.

Blaise shrugs. 'Well,' he says conversationally, and accios one of Greg's marshmallows. 'We tried.'

'Don't know why we bothered,' Greg mutters. 'He's been in a bad mood all day.'

Vince snorts. 'He's been in a bad mood all week.'

'Did you really see Potter earlier?' Blaise asks Vince.

Vince shrugs, turning his magazine sideways. 'Maybe,' he says. 'Pretty obvious that's the problem though, isn't it?'

He's not wrong. The day before yesterday Granger gave Blaise a pointed look as she bypassed him in Charms. He's just hoping she doesn't bring up how badly he's loosing this bet. Unfortunately for him, it seems that whatever had been going right between the two had now most definitely shifted into the "bad" category.

Though they weren't outright fighting—or, at least not like they used to—there was an obvious tension between them, and had been since classes had resumed.

Blaise sighs. Stupid Draco.

'What d'you think happened?' asks Greg. 'You think Potter found out about…' he trails off, his gaze flicking nervously to Theo and away again.

Blaise shoots him a glare and Greg winces. Theo, to his credit, doesn't flinch.

'You're the only one he's talking to,' Theo points out without looking up, his voice low and thick. 'So you tell us.'

Greg makes a face. 'He asked to borrow my inkwell.'

'Yeah, well, that's more than any of us,' mutters Theo, trying and failing to keep the resentment out of his voice.

'Oh come on,' says Blaise, tossing aside his book and summoning another of Greg's marshmallows. 'When are you two going to kiss and make up, huh? All this tiptoeing around you and him and Potter. It's getting a bit tedious don't you think?'

'Tell him that,' Theo snaps.

'Aren't you two best friends or something?'

Greg raises an eyebrow and Blaise waves him off. Keeping track of Draco's BFF's has never been high on Blaise's to do list.

'When have we _ever_ been best friends?' Theo asks, baffled. 'Draco doesn't _have_ friends, Zabini. He has followers.'

'Hey,' says Greg.

'Watch it, Nott,' growls Vince, finally looking up from his magazine. 'I'm no follower.'

'Yeah, you are,' says Theo, throwing down his quill and glaring at the lot of them. 'And that's exactly the way he likes it. Friendship isn't something that Draco _comprehends_ , okay?'

'He's always been a pretty good friend to you,' says Greg defensively. 'Letting you stay over whenever you needed to. Never asking _why_.'

Blaise admires his boldness, and shifts slightly so he can pull out his wand if this dissolves into a fight (as it so often does these days).

Anger flashes across Theo's face, but guilt and shame are quick to follow and Blaise suspects those emotions are the only reason the room doesn't erupt into hexes. Theo instead surges to his feet and, in an almost exact imitation of Draco, throws himself in bed and whisks the curtains closed.

'You know,' Blaise calls. 'Greg's got a point. And if Draco doesn't have friends how come he's been so friendly with Potter lately?'

Theo, of course, doesn't answer.

Blaise sighs and leans back in bed.

'Why do you do that?' Greg sighs.

Blaise shrugs. 'Boredom,' he says. 'Besides, are you telling me you're not curious?'

'No,' says Greg. 'And you shouldn't be either. Stop picking fights with them. Things are tense enough as it is.'

'Yeah, and why do you think that is? It's been like this all year, and Potter has to be the reason.'

'Who cares?' asks Greg. 'Just let it go, would you?'

Blaise frowns at him.

The thing is, he can't let it go. Aside from the satisfaction of beating Granger in this bet (which, yeah okay, had started out as a joke), he can't help but feel that if he is right, if Draco and Potter have somehow managed to put aside their differences and become friends, then there might actually be some hope for the rest of them.

After all, the rivalry between Slytherin and the other houses had already eased up. If it stops completely, Slytherins might actually start to get treated like everyone else; and if we get treated like the other houses, if they start being seen as just _students_ and not straight up evil…well, then they might actually have a chance at getting out of this war alive.

* * *

 **A/N:** So I kinda dropped off the face of the Earth and I'm sorry. However, I'm happy to say that my health problems have all but resolved themselves. I still need to take things slow for the moment as I'm still catching up on a lot of sleep loss, but things are getting better.

I want to thank everyone for being so patient with me and for checking in on me. I appreciate it so much.

You'll be happy to know that I've been working on DDM when I can, it just took me far longer than I thought to get this chapter together. While I'm still getting back to normal, I'm not going to make any promises on how quickly chapters will be released, but I promise it'll be faster than the three months it's been since the last one.

I hope everyone is doing okay in the current situation with COVID-19. I know things are a bit scary at the moment (depending on where you live), and I hope this cheers you all up a bit.


	39. Musical Love Letter

Chapter Thirty-Nine

 _Musical Love Letter_

 ** _Hannah:_**

The table at the front of the room is filled with over a dozen different Muggle items, each varying in size, weight and colour. Hannah has seen them before, when the class first had to pick their assignments. They each got to choose one—except, of course, for Harry and Malfoy who had to share—and were tasked with finding out it's purpose.

Three months _should_ have been enough time to figure out some little Muggle item, but seeing as Hannah is still not one hundred percent sure what the function of the strange L-shaped black object actually was, she's obviously underestimated how easy this would be.

She sighs and wishes she'd just done what Justin did and asked Harry.

She glances over at the Gryffindor, wondering if she can at least ask him if she's close, but he and Malfoy are too busy scowling at each other to notice her trying to catch Harry's attention.

'Hello everyone,' says Professor Burbage, bustling into the room late as usual.

She has an armful of things that scatter all over the place as she drops them onto her desk. She straightens up, sweeps her hair out of her face and turns to check the display table—all the while chattering away like an excitable first year.

'Sorry I'm late class, I had to pick up some new material for next weeks class project. Alright, time for our individual presentations. Everyone got their projects ready? Oh, yes all on the table. Well done. Well, first up to present will be, let's see…how about Miss Bones, with her Muggle flip-phone.'

Next to Hannah, Susan sighs and mutters something about always being first under her breath. Hannah grins and gives her a thumbs up. Susan offers her a wry smile and heads up to the front of the class.

Her presentation is short and efficient (as all Susan's work is), and—judging by the pleased smile on Professor Burbage's face, her description of a device that "allows Muggles to communicate by voice over vast distances" is right on the money.

Hannah fidgets in her chair and hopes she isn't next.

They go through three more presentations with Professor Burbage smiling and nodding along. They all pass.

Until Zacharius Smith gets up. He heads up to the front of the room with his usual flare for the dramatic. Hannah catches Susan's eye again and they both roll their eyes.

Zach picks up his item. A strange L-shaped black object. The handle is narrow, but the top half, the half that he turns and points toward the class has a round opening in it.

'This,' says Zach, holding up the item with an ominous expression, 'is an extremely dangerous device. It can _kill_ in an instant. All they have to do is point it at someone, pull the trigger and _bam!_ That person is _dead_. What's it's name, you ask? The Muggles call a _gun._ It's—Something funny, Potter?'

Harry, who is hunched over, shoulders shaking as he tries unsuccessfully to stifle his snickers, shakes his head. 'Nope,' he chokes out.

Zach glares at him and raises the gun back up again. 'As I was saying, this gun—'

Harry completely dissolves into laughter. He drops his head onto the table, burying his face in the crook of his arm in an attempt to muffle the almost hysterical giggles. Next to him, Malfoy mutters something no one else can hear, and Harry shakes his head, still laughing.

'Now, Mr Potter,' Professor Burbage reprimands, though doesn't seem to know how to follow this statement.

She's the only one in the class who looks amused, and Hannah wonders if she's amused by Harry or by Zach's presentation.

Professor Burbage sighs, and glances over at Zach with an odd little half smile. 'Perhaps you should finish your presentation another time, Zach. After you've done more research.'

Zach's face turns beat red, and Hannah can almost hear the grinding of his teeth. 'I have done research. Extensively. Guns are no laughing matter, you know. You know more Muggles die from guns than any other cause? They're dangerous! And they all have them. It's almost scary, actually. I did a thorough work up. I found how they were made, what they were used for, how many people have them, where to access them—'

Harry (who's managed to calm down but is still grinning like a maniac) cuts Zach off, 'Ever look at a picture?'

'What?'

'A picture. You know, a photo or a drawing of a gun. I'm guessing you didn't bother to look for one.'

'Why would I need a picture when I _have_ one?'

Harry's grin, if possible, widens.

It's not a very Gruffindorish grin. In fact, Hannah would say that it's somewhat Slytherin-like what with the almost vindictive pleasure that creeps into Harry's expression. That self-satisfied contempt of _knowing_ something someone else didn't. She knows that Harry and Zach don't get along well, but she hadn't realised until this moment quite how much they disliked each other.

'That's not a gun,' says Harry; and if his smile was Slytherin, his tone is pure Malfoy.

'Of course it is,' snaps Zach. 'Look Potter you may _think_ you know everything just because—'

'Zach,' interrupts Professor Burbage, and gives him a rueful smile. 'Potter is right. It's not a gun.'

'I…yes it is,' Zach insists, staring at her.

She shakes her head, a pitying look on her face. 'I'm afraid you'll have to redo the assignment.'

'But...no, no it _has_ to be a gun. I...I did the research...'

Harry chuckles again. 'It's really, really not.'

'Well then what is it?' drawls Malfoy in a bored voice. 'Tell us so we can get on with this.'

Harry glances sideways at him, grinning from ear to ear, clearly still delighted by the whole thing. 'It's a hairdryer.'

'What's a hairdryer?' asks Lisa.

'Merlin even I can work that one out,' mutters Malfoy, rolling his eyes. 'It's called a _hairdryer_. Obviously it dries hair.'

Harry nods, grinning. 'You point that circular end at your hair, turn it on and it blows hot air at you.'

'And that dries hair?' asks Ernie doubtfully.

'Well yeah. I mean it takes ages, but it does the job.'

'But—'

'How about we hear the next presentation,' interrupts Professer Burbage. 'Mr Smith you may redo your assignment, so long as you do the research properly this time. I think Mr Potter has given you enough to go on now.'

She says this last part wryly, shooting a quick look at Harry to indicate that he's explained enough about the function of a hairdryer.

'I…sure…' says Zach, somewhat deflated.

'Very good,' says Professor Burbage brightly. 'Well, how about we hear from…Hannah, why don't you go next?'

Hannah takes a deep breath and nods. 'Alright,' she says in a small voice.

She gets up and heads to the front of the class, her hands jittering and sweaty. She wipes her hands on her skirt and picks up her assignment.

'The item I chose,' she says, and is relieved that her voice isn't as shaky as she feels, 'is a Muggle Camera. Even though it looks really different, they work pretty much the same way ours do, except this one prints the photo out as well. I think. I didn't actually manage to get it to work. Um, anyway, that's uh, mostly it. Does anyone have any questions?'

No one did. Apparently Muggle camera's weren't different enough from Wizard technology for anyone to show an interest in. Hannah sighs in relief, and retakes her seat.

'Well it looks like that just leaves Mr Potter and Mr Malfoy,' Professor Burbage says, looking over at the project table where a single item remains.

She turns to look at Harry and Malfoy with an expectant, if trepidatious smile. Hannah glances at them too, and hopes that they aren't going to spend the rest of the class arguing. Conflict makes her nervous; and when she's nervous, she sweats.

Harry's gaze flicks toward Malfoy and away again.

Over the course of six years, Hannah hasn't had much occasion to spend any significant time with Harry, but even so, through their limited interaction in class and in the DA, she had always thought him roguish and reckless. He is a magnet for trouble for sure, with all the classic markers of a Gryffindor: never running from a fight, mouthing off to teachers, fighting with Slytherin's.

Yet, over the last few months of sharing Muggle Studies with him, Hannah has begun to notice something else. Something less hero-like and more approachable.

Without the overpowering presence of "The Golden Trio" and the shroud of mystery and conspiracy that seemed to follow the three of them everywhere, Hannah finds herself paying more attention to him, simply because she is able to interact with him more; and she's learned that he isn't that much different from her.

He's funny in a self-deprecating, somewhat moody kind of way. He certainly never tires of riling Malfoy up, goading the boy until he explodes into a series of insults and reprimands that instead of making Harry angry, make him grin in amusement—as if daring Malfoy to do better.

Most surprisingly, however, is the fact that Harry doesn't seem to like conflict. Oh, he argues with Malfoy all the time, but that's different. It's like a game they play. The constant teasing back and forth that is both barbed and caustic and yet…almost friendly.

It's real conflict that Harry doesn't like. Oh, he hides it well, but she—who hides from even the slightest hint of friction—can recognise the signs. It's the way his shoulders always hunch, curling inwards as if trying to make himself smaller whenever someone's annoyance or disappointment becomes apparent. The way his head droops, ducking away from attention. The way his voice lowers, becoming soft and jaded.

It's almost a comfort to Hannah to see this. To realise that the Boy-Who-Lived is just as bit a shy and nervous teenager as she is—even if he is far better at hiding it.

That's why, when Harry's gaze flicks away from Malfoy with that nervous tightening across his shoulders, she begins to worry. She can't help it.

The two boys make their way to the front of the class, neither even looking at each other. Malfoy picks up the little device off the table and turns around. He weighs it in his hand, purses his lips and glances sideways, not quite looking at Harry.

Harry nods, coughs and steps forward. 'Er, right,' he says, and scrubs a hand through his hair (another nervous tic of his). 'So, uh, Draco—er, Malfoy and I got this Walkman. It's, uh, kind of like a radio, I guess. Muggles use it to play music. They insert one of these—a CD—and it plays music through these little things here called headphones. Since I know how they're supposed to work, Malfoy was able to make it work using Rune work. Um…'

Harry glances at Malfoy, shifting his weight back and forth from foot to foot.

'Muggle technology doesn't work well around magic because of how it functions,' says Malfoy in a bland, bored voice, staring at the back of the room without interest. 'Magic interferes with the energy source, disrupting the normal flow, and making Muggle items go haywire. Runes can be used to dampen this effect, and allow muggle items to function properly.'

'Wait,' says Ernie, straightening up in his seat. 'You can make muggle stuff work?'

Malfoy blinks and drops his gaze to Ernie, blue eyes narrowing. 'That _is_ what I just said.'

'If we can make muggle technology work, why don't wizards use more of it?' asks Lisa, unperturbed by Malfoy's general unpleasantness.

'Because it's inconvenient,' says Malfoy. 'It took me two weeks to figure out the correct Runes to make this work and that was with Potter's knowledge of how to make it work. It's not a one fix solution. Every device needs a specific combination to allow it to function correctly.'

'But,' says Lisa, 'if you had another one of these…Walkmans, you could use the same Runes to make it work, couldn't you?'

Malfoy shrugs. 'So long as both devices function in a similar fashion, I suppose so. Rune-work is more of an art rather than a set of rules.'

Lisa smirks. 'I know. I take Runes. To be honest, I'm surprised you were able to pull this off seeing as you're not taking it this year.'

Harry winces, his feet shuffling along the floor as he shifts backwards slightly.

'Yeah well, it's not like a had a choice in that matter,' Malfoy mutters, rolling his eyes. 'And just because I'm not taking the class doesn't mean I'm an idiot. I still have the books. Making Muggle technology work with magic is a pain in the arse, and so inconvenient.'

'Malfoy,' sighs Professor Burbage, shaking her head. 'Watch your language.'

Malfoy scowls but manages not to say anything insulting.

'Er, right,' says Harry. 'Well, uh…like Malfoy said we, uh, got it working. And, well, I kinda thought we had to be more detailed with what Muggles use stuff for so, uh,' he flushes, and runs a hand through his hair again. 'Well, I brought this CD I made. See, Muggles have this custom to make what they call mixtapes. They put all these specific songs on a CD, and give it to someone they like, and the idea is to make the person to listening to the songs think of the person who gave them the CD.'

Hannah, who loves music, feels an odd sort of warmth at the idea. 'They give songs to people they have feelings for?' she asks. 'That's kind of sweet. Like writing a love letter, but with music.'

Zach turns to stare at her, eyebrows raised in disbelief. 'It sounds ridiculous. A love letter of music?'

Hannah pokes her tongue out at him. 'I think it's nice.'

'It's basically just really bad flirting, right?' asks Zach turning back to the boys.

Harry blinks. 'Erm, I guess it's kind of like flirting. Yeah. Anyway, we got it to work so if anyone wants to give it a go—'

'You mean listen to the love tape.'

'Mix CD,' says Harry, his tone slightly annoyed.

'That you made?'

'I didn't make the songs,' says Harry, sighing. 'I just stuck them on the CD. It's really not hard.'

'And you gave it to Malfoy...since he actually made it work,' pushes Zach.

'Yeah, that's what I just said.'

'So,' says Zach smirking. 'By your own admission, you're flirting with him?'

Harry's eyes go wide behind his glasses, making the green more prominent than usual. He gapes at Zach, but doesn't manage to say anything. Beside him, Malfoy has gone very, very still.

'Well done, Smith,' Malfoy drawls. 'You figured it out. Potter has been secretly flirting with me through veiled Muggle means...' He trails off, his tone making it obvious how ridiculous the whole thing sounds.

A few people chuckle. Zach, once again, goes beat red.

Hannah shakes her head and wishes he would stop digging himself into holes. He really wasn't that bad a guy, he just had a habit of putting his foot in it.

'If anyone wants to listen to Potter's love letter to me,' says Malfoy with a smirk as he dumps the walkman back on the table. 'Feel free.'

He heads back to his table. Harry, keeping his head low, follows. He slips into his chair and keeps his head bent over his work for the rest of the lesson.

'Well,' says Professor Burbage. 'You all did very well.' She beams around at them all (and seems to forget that not _all_ of them did as well as the rest). 'As a treat, I thought I'd do my own presentation. Now, while all of you did your projects on a muggle item, I did mine on a Muggle _place_. Now, if you all come up here, I have before you an exact replica of something called an amusement park.'

They all head up to the front of the room to see a small, sprawling model display of what can only be described as lights and colour.

Professor Burbage tells explains, telling them all about "carnival games" and "rollercoaster" rides. Things that Hannah can barely comprehend. She stares at the model, at the small locomotive device that shoots around and around a track of twisting and turning rails, wondering how on Earth Muggles had managed to build such a thing.

'Hey,' says Harry, leaning forward. 'This is Thorpe Park.'

'You know it?' asks Professor Burbage with a smile.

Harry flushes as most the class turns to look at him. 'Er, sort of. I went when I was little but, uh, I was…too small for the rides,' he scratches behind his ear, his head ducking. 'I've always wanted to go back.'

'Well I'm sure you'll get the chance,' says Professor Burbage with a bright smile. 'Well, as you can see, class, Muggles can make some pretty extraordinary things.'

The bell goes off, and Hannah steps back out of the way as her classmates hurry to gather their things and head out to break. Harry lingers by the model of the park and Malfoy watches him from their desk, packing up his things distractedly as he frowns at the Gryffindor.

Hannah tries not to watch them, but it's hard not to. She sighs, and swings her bag up onto her shoulder. As she's leaving, though, she hears Harry behind her say,

'So, uh, did you listen to the CD? Because you know I didn't…that wasn't…I only made it for the class. As an example, I mean. Not to…you know.'

'Relax Potter,' Malfoy mutters. 'It doesn't matter.'

Hannah glances back, almost hesitating in the doorway. The tension between them is stifling, and she wants to sit them down and make them talk about it, like Professor Sprout does whenever two Hufflepuffs have a particularly loud row, but she knows it's neither her place, nor would it be appreciated.

She sighs and steps out of the room, wishing that conflict resolution was better handled by the teachers. And especially wishing that other people's conflict didn't bother _her_ quite so much.

* * *

 **A/N:** It was so awesome to hear from everyone, I was so thrilled to see so many of you still reading this story - I appreciate it so much and I'm so glad you're enjoying it as much as I am!

I did some checking over the notes and half written chapters I have, and thought I'd let you all know that it turns out I have over thirty chapters still to go for sixth year alone. Seeing as I plan to go into seventh year as well, you'll be happy to know that there is still plenty of story to come :)


	40. Civil Conversations

Chapter Forty

 _Civil Conversations_

 ** _Blue:_**

The morning is warm and humid, and makes Blue's scales itch. She tastes the air, flicking her tongue out and scenting for the musky smell of Prey. There is none, and Blue twitches her tail in annoyance. He is late. She doesn't like it when He is late.

She shifts, squinting out at the boy who _isn't_ late, and watches him work. He moves the thin pale stick in his hand and she feels a wave of magic settle in the air. It's familiar and warm, and she settles into the corner of her tank and watches him weave magic into the new home he is building her.

Beyond where he works, the Large One lumbers around the clearing. His footsteps cause the earth to tremble, sending faint vibrations up through the tank walls. He hums as he works. The low, rumbling hum of a creature content.

She shifts, the very image of _dis_ content, and twists within the confines of the tank to rub against one of the rocks. She is glad she will be getting a new home as she has grown far too big for this one.

Irritation makes her stomach grumble, and she turns her gaze to the Boy.

 _'_ _Where is he?'_ she hisses at him.

He doesn't respond. He doesn't even look up. She flicks her tail, irritation tightening along her scales. She taps her horn against the glass. Annoyed, she sends a burst of magic into the glass.

Blue eyes flick up at her, distracted. The boy frowns, and then pulls a small, rounded object from one of his ears, letting it drop from his hand to dangle from a thin wire.

'I'm almost done,' he says to her, and though the words are not in her tongue, she understands. 'Try to be patient.

She narrows her gaze at him, _'I do not care about the home,'_ she says, flicking her tail again. _'Where is he? I am hungry.'_

He sighs. He sets aside his wand and pulls the other strange device out of his other ear as he turns to face her. He lifts the top off her tank and a rush of cool air sweeps through her tank.

'Sorry, but I don't understand,' he says, reaching in to pull her out. 'I wish I did, but I don't. I don't speak parseltongue.'

 _'_ _Well then where is_ He _? He Speaks. Why is he not here. He is always here.'_

He sighs again, and places her gently into the new home he has built for her. 'Merlin knows it would be useful if I _did_ speak Parseltongue. Then you could tell me if this damn tank is big enough.'

She looks around. It's quite a bit bigger than her current tank. The glass walls are thick, and warmth pulses out from them. Delighted, she stretches, rubbing her scales along one wall.

'Looks about righ' teh me,' says the Large One, his footsteps growing closer.

Blue turns her head to watch him approach.

The words are thick and different from the way the Boy talks, but somehow Blue manages to understand. After all, she's been practicing. She's been listening, trying to learn as much as she can. After all, He said it would help her to get smarter and she wants to be smart. Smarter than others of her kind, who have been hunted to near extinction.

The Boy nods, though he doesn't look happy. He is tense. If he was a snake, he would be coiled into a tight ball, his tail shuddering—warning off any who approach.

 _'_ _It is satisfactory,'_ she says, wanting to ease his discomfort, but knowing even as she speaks that it is useless.

Where _is_ He?

'Wan' a hand puttin' tha' in place?' asks the Large One.

The Boy sighs and stands up. 'Sure.'

The half-giant lifts her new home with ease, takes two heavy steps and sets her down in a bright ray of sunlight. More warmth flows into the tank and Blue relaxes, her scales slipping over one another as she broadens herself as much as possible to soak up the sun.

'There,' says the Large One. 'She looks pretty happy to me.'

The Boy grunts and kicks at the ground, stuffing the strange device he'd had in his ears into his pocket. 'Would've been easier if—' he cuts himself off and sighs heavily.

'You an' 'Arry still fighting?'

'We're not fighting,' says the Boy tightly. 'We're just…not talking.'

'Er, righ'. Er, anythin' I can do teh help?'

'Yeah. You can tell him that this is his bloody project too. After all _he's_ the whole reason we were allowed to take her in the first place. Honestly, if he can't even _show up_ …'

'Hey Malfoy,' says a new voice, one that Blue does not recognise.

The Boy jumps, looking up with wide eyes at the newcomer. His expression shifts into a scowl, anger flashing through his eyes at the human girl.

'Oh wow,' she says, stepping over to Blue's new home. 'She's quite striking.'

Blue is distracted by the vibrant red of her hair, and so doesn't see Him at first. Then the girl shifts, glancing over her shoulder at Him, and Blue raises her head, alert.

'What's her name?' she asks.

'She doesn't have one yet,' says the Boy, but Blue is too distracted to notice correct him.

 _'_ _You're here,'_ she says, peering up over the edge of the walls to look at him. _'You're late_.'

'She doesn't have a name?' asks the Girl, raising her eyebrows.

'Er,' the Speaker says, glancing between Blue and the girl.

'We were supposed to pick one after Christmas,' says the Boy, his eyes narrowed. 'But someone has been too busy to bother showing up.'

The Girl raises her eyebrows and glances between the two boys. Blue does the same. She doesn't understand what has changed. Before the Christmas the Pale Boy talks off, they had visited her together. They would sit for an age by her tank in the early morning sun, bringing her Prey and scratching her scales.

Now, like this day, they only came separately.

Blue wanted to know why. _'You're late. Why did you not come sooner.'_

He glances at her, stepping around the human girl to come closer to the tank. 'I'm sorry,' he says in a soft voice. 'I was…busy.'

The Pale Boy scoffs, looking away and staring at the ground as if there is Prey there that he would like to Hunt.

'Well,' says the human girl, leaning on the edge of Blue's tank to peer in. 'Why don't you pick a name now?'

'No,' says the Speaker. 'We can't.'

The girl gives him a look that Blue doesn't understand—human expressions are harder than human words—and the Pale Boy crosses his arms.

'Of course you can,' says the girl in a bright voice, nudging her shoulder into The Speakers. 'After all she needs a name.'

'No, I mean, we can't because she already has one.'

'Has what?' asks the Pale Boy.

'A name.'

'Oh no,' mutters the Girl glancing back and forth between Blue's humans.

'What do you mean she has a name?' asks the Pale Boy, his voice dangerous—like the rattle of a Rattler snake. 'She can't have a name. We haven't picked one yet.'

The Speaker shrugs. 'Well she does,' he says. 'It's Blue.'

'Oh no,' says the Girl again, and Blue doesn't understand why.

' _Blue_? You named her _Blue_?'

'Blue isn't a _bad_ name,' says the Girl.

'I didn't name her,' says The Speaker, his shoulders hunching, and Blue thinks that if he was a snake he would be coiled tight, fair in the crevice of a rock. 'That's just what she's called.'

'What the hell does that mean?'

The Speaker sighs. He shifts his weight from foot to foot. Blue flicks her tail in impatience.

 _'_ _Why are you fighting. What is wrong with my name?'_

'Nothing,' says the Speaker.

'It means nothing?' asks the Pale Boy.

 _'_ _Then why are you fighting? Why haven't you brought me Prey?'_

'I—No, I was talking to her, I…we aren't…' he sighs, runs a hand through his hair and takes a deep breath.

 _'_ _You have brought me food,'_ Blue hisses at him. _'I can smell it. I would have it.'_

'I…yes. I have food for you,' he reaches out for her, and she curls herself around his arm, tasting the air to try and determine what he has brought her.

 _'_ _I will hunt.'_

'Try not to bite me this time,' he says wanly as she burrows into the darkness of his robes.

She tightens her scales around his arm deliberately. _'No promises,'_ she says. _'You were late.'_

He chuckles darkly, though it's not the same as usual. She pauses mid hunt. Now that she's noticed it, there is definitely something wrong about his smell this morning.

Someone mutters something and the Speaker tenses.

'I'm not spoiling her,' he says in a low voice.

'No, sorry,' says the Pale Boy. 'You're right. You're not here often enough to spoil her.'

'Oh for— _you_ told me to stay away! You said I was making things to hard and why couldn't I just— _ouch!_ Blue! What the hell?'

Blue backtracks, slipping out of his sleeve and curling around his arm again, keeping her head and upper body raised so that she can better inspect his face. His face which is red, his eyes wide and hurt as he stares at her in bewilderment.

'You bit me!' he exclaims.

'Shit are you okay?' asks the Girl, starting forward and then halting abruptly when Blue turns her gaze toward her.

Blue turns back to the Speaker. _'Something is not right with you,'_ she says. _'You are different.'_

'So you bit me?'

 _'_ _You are fighting, I didn't like it.'_

'So you _bit_ me? You can't just bite me because I'm doing something you don't like, you know! God, I can't believe you just—you know what, I can't. I just…here, back in your tank.'

He thrusts his arm back toward her new tank and, feeling the air heating up around him, Blue slips off his arm and back into the warmth of her tank. Magic without the use of the magic stick was, in Blue's mind, an indication of severe human emotion. In this case, anger. Blue feels the magic tingle along her scales. She loosens herself from around his arm and slips back into her tank, worried she has gone too far in biting him.

'You don't have to yell at her,' mutters the Pale One, stepping forward to peer in at her in concern. 'You shouldn't have let her into your robes. She's not a pet.'

The Speaker ignores him. He's too busy pulling off his robes and yanking up his shirt to check his skin for Blue's bite mark. Two round holes pierce his chest, already dripping blood.

'Merlin, Harry,' says the Girl, stepping forward again.

Even the Pale Boy stiffens, staring at the marks.

'It's fine,' says the Speaker, yanking down his shirt again. Red stains the front of his shirt. 'It's not that bad.'

'But…those scars…'

'Drop it, Gin,' he says, pulling on his robes again. 'It's fine.'

'I…'

'You should go see Madam Pomfrey,' says the Pale One stiffly. 'The bite looked serious.'

'It's not,' says the Speaker, staring moodily at the ground. 'It doesn't hurt.'

'It sounded like it hurt.'

'Well it doesn't, alight? So just drop it. _Both_ of you,' he turns, magic thickening the air again, and Blue curls up within her tank.

'And _you_!' he says, turning on her. ' _Don't_ bite me. Ever.'

 _'_ _I'm sorry.'_

He scrubs a hand through his hair. 'I know.'

 _'_ _You are not the same,'_ Blue insists, scales shuddering at the damp and musty scent of misery clinging to him. _'What has happened?'_

He blinks, and his gaze shifts away from her. Toward the other two humans.

 _'_ _Is it the girl? Shall I bite her.'_

'No! No biting people! Ever!'

Blue shifts, her scales slipping over one another as she constricts. She lifts her head toward him. _'Are you angry with me?'_

He sighs. 'No, I'm not angry.'

 _'_ _But you are not talking to me.'_

He frowns. 'I am talking to…oh. You mean…' he sighs again, heavy and miserable.

 _'_ _You are sad.'_

'Just…eat your food,' he says, and pulls out something white and wriggling.

Blue is instantly alert. _'Prey,'_ she hisses, darting out and capturing the mouse, crushing it between her jaws.

The human girl blinks and looks away pointedly. The Pale One wrinkles his nose.

Blue narrows her gaze at him. He is tense and now that she's identified the smell around the Speaker, she realises the same musky sadness is lingering around him, too.

 _'_ _You are both the same,'_ she hisses. _'Both not right.'_

The Speaker glances up and over at the Pale One. She narrows her gaze at them.

 _'_ _What has happened?'_ she asks again.

He doesn't answer.

Blue taps her horn against the glass, sending a pulse of magic through the glass.

The Speaker winces. 'I told you not to do that,' he says. 'You'll break the glass.'

'No she won't,' says the Pale Boy. 'I reinforced it.'

'Oh,' says the Speaker. 'Oh. The tank is new.'

'Yes.'

'Oh. You could have told me you wanted to get a new one. How much was it, I'll pay for half.'

'I didn't buy it. I made it.'

'You made that? Wow, that's, um, that's really, er, it's really good. I could've helped, you know.'

The Girl, standing back from the two boys, winces, staring at the Speaker with another expression that Blue doesn't understand. Blue twitches her tail. She wants to understand. She wants to know why her humans are so sad.

'You could've helped? Really? When, exactly, could you have helped? After all you've been far to busy to bother coming down here lately.'

'I…I haven't been—it's not like you wanted me here anyway,' says the Speaker. 'You told me to stay away from you. You've been ignoring me in class, I figured this would just make things easier.'

'Easier? To just abandon me on this project?'

'Project? She's not a _project_ , Draco, she's a living creature, you know. She has feelings, unlike you.'

'Merlin you are such a fucking hypocrite.'

' _I'm_ a hypocrite?'

'Yes! _You_ are,' shouts the Pale One, and magic cracks through the air, making Blue flinch. 'I'm the one down here every morning, making sure she's okay, feeding her and checking on her tank while you just hide away in your stupid tower! You won't even talk to her. Let me guess, you're suddenly too good to bother conversing with her in parselmouth right? I mean, talking to snakes is _evil_ , isn't it? Even if they do have _feelings_.'

Something shifts in the air as the tension within the Speaker grows into something coiling and angry.

'That's what you think?' he asks, and the pressure in the air builds.

'Harry,' warns the Girl, 'Let's, uh, let's maybe calm down, yeah? We don't want another exploding bludger.'

The magic peaks—crackling through the air like lightning—and Blue's old tank shatters.

Rumbling footsteps shake the ground. 'Everythin' alrigh'?' asks the Giant One, rushing over to them.

'I…yes,' says the Speaker. 'I'm sorry, I…I have to go. Sorry you didn't get to hold her, Gin. You'll have to come back another time.'

'Harry,' she sighs. 'You really don't have to do that. We can stay.'

'No. This was a mistake. I'll just mess things up again.'

'Potter—'

'Forget it,' says the Speaker. 'I should get checked out anyway.' He turns on his heel and storms away, his footsteps heavier than usual, the sadness around him making the air taste thick and heavy even as he leaves.

'So much for keeping things civil,' mutters the Pale One.

The Speaker pauses. He whirls around. Stomps back over toward them. He reaches into his pocket and the Pale One stiffens as the Speaker withdraws a small red something out from his pockets and tosses it toward him.

'Luna found it the other day,' says the Speaker in a rough voice. 'She asked me to give it to you.'

'Harry—,'

'I'll see you later, Gin.'

'Harry, c'mon, this has all just gotten blown out of proportion. Don't leave. You promised you'd tell me about Blue.'

But he's already gone. Blue, feeling her own sadness creep along her scales, rubs her chin against her tail and curls up tighter.

 _'_ _I didn't mean to make him leave,'_ she whispers into her scales.

Outside her tank, the Girl and the Pale One are still talking. Blue tries to block them out (wallowing in her own sadness that she drove the Speaker away) but the urge to listen and learn cannot be denied.

'You're an idiot,' says the Girl.

'Excuse me?'

'You,' she says again, 'are an idiot. You both are.'

'Shouldn't you be off chasing after your previous _chosen one_?'

'Shouldn't you?' the Girl retorts.

'Are you suggesting something, Weasel?'

'Just that you'll regret messing this up. But that's your business, I guess. If you want to throw this all away then that's your decision. It's a really stupid one. But it is yours.'

'I don't know what—,'

'Anyway, I'm afraid I don't have time to listen to your idiotic denials. Frankly, I've got my hands full today figuring out how to punish the asshole in the common room this morning who was harping on about the correlation between dark lords and parselmouths—obviously a complete lie, but _that_ was why Harry wasn't "talking" to Blue this morning.'

Blue looks up, catching a flash of auburn as the Girl stalks away after the Speaker. She looks at the Pale One. Human body language is still confusing, and so she tastes the air, trying to determine what the look on his face means.

'Er, everythin' alrigh'?' asks the Giant One, from across the clearing.

The Pale One sighs. 'No,' he mutters under his breath, barely loud enough for Blue to hear. 'Everything's all wrong.'

It's the first thing anyone has said that makes sense to Blue, and she can't agree more.

What had happened to her humans, and how can she make them right again?


	41. Rewrite the Stars

A/N: So there was supposed to be a chapter before this one, but I couldn't make it work the way I wanted and I had to adjust this one to fit the storyline. Sorry it took so long! At least the next chapter should get out a bit sooner.

* * *

Chapter Forty-One

 _Rewrite the Stars_

 ** _Phineas Black:_**

The life of a painting is a fairly boring one. Even more so when that painting is tasked with spying on a sixteen year old boy. Phineas scowls.

Oh sure, everyone thinks Albus Dumbledore is all wise and all knowing, but what they don't realise is behind his calm, omniscient facade is some rather questionable information gathering habits.

He creeps through the various frames hanging along Hogwarts' walls, bored out of his mind as he follows the boy. Until the boy is yanked from the corridor and into a room by the scruff of his collar. Phineas scowls. He shifts out of his current frame, falling into the black void between paintings, and searches for one in the direction of the classroom Potter has disappeared into.

He angles away from the corridor paintings, shifting sideways in this 2D painted world to tumble past several portrait entrances. He sees the frame he needs and reaches out, pulling himself up and sliding over the edge of the frame into the background of the painting.

Of course neither of the occupants of the room notice his entrance (they never do), and he peers out, surprised to see a familiar flash of blond.

Narcissa's progeny isn't much to look at up close, but seeing as he and that Tonks girl are all that's left of the Black family line (excluding Potter, of course—he doesn't count) Phineas can only hope that the boy has _some_ merit.

At the moment, however, the boy is busy yelling at Potter.

'—the hell was that about this morning?'

Potter turns sharply, pulling out of Malfoy's grip with a scowl, his fists clenched. Phineas sighs, and gets ready to alert a teacher to an impending fight.

'What was what about?' Potter asks, his expression as stiff as a badly painted portrait and his voice hollow.

Malfoy narrows his gaze at Potter and leans back against a nearby table. 'Really? Is this how it's going to be from now on?'

Potter crosses his arms across his chest, which Phineas thinks is supposed to look indifferent but really just makes the boy look self-conscious. 'You're the one who said it was over. You told me to stay away from you.'

'I never said—ugh you are _infuriating_.'

' _I'm_ infuriating?' Potter snaps, uncrossing his arms and gaping at Malfoy in outraged disbelief.

'Yes, you are! You're the most infuriating, obnoxious, irritating person I've ever met!'

'You're…god,' Potter runs a hand through his hair and turns away. 'What is it you want, Malfoy?'

'I want—' Malfoy stops, sighs, and looks up at the ceiling. 'How is that every time we talk we just end up arguing?'

'Because you're an ass.'

Malfoy looks back down, his expression cool and annoyed. 'I thought Gryffindors were all about second chances?'

Potter whirls around. 'Second chances? All I've been _doing_ is giving you second chances, Malfoy. I just…I can't keep doing this. I can't figure you out. You keep saying one thing and then doing another and it's driving me mental. So what is it, what the hell do you want from me?'

'Nothing,' says Malfoy in a low voice.

Potter laughs harshly. 'Nothing? You dragged me in here because you don't want anything from me?'

Malfoy looks away. 'I…wanted to make sure you were okay. After Blue bit you.'

Potter crosses his arms again. 'I'm fine.'

Malfoy glances back at him, but drops his gaze again. 'Okay. Good.'

Potter shakes his head. He turns away, scrubs a hand through his hair again, and turns back. 'Just, tell me one thing. What're you so afraid of?'

The reaction is instant. Malfoy shoves up from the table, sending it crashing backwards as he crosses the space between them, stopping short just out of reach of Potter. 'Of course I'm afraid! Merlin, do you know how hard this is? Do you think I'm _enjoying_ this? I'm stuck wanting something I can't have, trying to convince myself to choose someone else, _anyone_ else and all I can think about is you. I _hate_ this. I hate—' He breaks off and turns away, running both hands through his hair and growling in frustration.

Phineas raises his eyebrows. While he is aware of the seating arrangement rigged between the boys, he was under the impression that they hated each other. Malfoy's words, on the other hand…

Potter steps after Malfoy, reaching out as if to touch the boy's shoulder only to stop and let his hand fall.

'Aren't _you_ afraid?' asks Malfoy, staring across the room, almost seeming to gaze at the portrait Phineas is hiding in. 'Don't you realise what could happen if anyone found out about this?'

'So we don't let them find out,' says Potter.

Malfoy barks out a sharp, caustic laugh void of any humour. 'And what do you call Longbottom? And Lovegood? And _Pomfrey_? And don't think I don't know that you've told Weasley, of all people.'

Potter frowns. 'What? Ron doesn't know.'

'Not _him_. The…Ginny.'

Potter falters. 'Oh.'

Malfoy turns around and they're a lot closer than before, standing far closer than rivals, or even just friends. 'Yes,' he says in a tight voice. 'Oh.'

Potter sighs and glances around the room, as if searching for words. 'I didn't tell her,' he says, looking back at Malfoy. 'I swear. She…she had an idea of what was going on and when she asked me about it…I just…I needed someone to talk to. You've been so confusing, bouncing back and forth and I, I didn't know what to do. I'm sorry if you're upset that she knows but she won't tell anyone. I swear.'

'And what about Granger? And Weasley? Will you tell _them_?'

Potter's shoulders slump and he stares at Malfoy helplessly. 'I…I mean I want to. I'm not sure how they'll react but…don't _you_ want to tell your friends?'

'No! I don't! Merlin, Potter don't you get it? If any of my housemates find out, I'm screwed. They'll tell their parents, and their parents will tell mine, and then…I know you think everything will work out,' says Malfoy, shaking his head and looking away, 'but that's not how the world works. You're the good guy, and I'm…not. There's no good outcome for us.'

'You don't know that,' Potter says, but Phineas sees the desperate helplessness in his expression. 'It could work out. I don't care about the war, or which side you're on or any of that. I don't…I just…'

There's no mistaking what they're talking about. It's clear, from the pent up wanting coming from both boys, that there is far more than civil co-operation going on between them. Anyone with eyes should see that they're clearly involved and Phineas wonders how no one has noticed. Of course, Malfoy is holding himself back from Potter, his arms crossed between them as if a shield to keep Potter at bay, but still, the situation is obvious.

Malfoy is right, of course. This relationship is bad news. At least for Malfoy. The boy is on the wrong side of the war to be taking up with the Boy Who Lived, and Phineas wonders what in the name of Magic possessed Malfoy to get involved with him in the first place.

'Harry,' Malfoy shakes his head. 'It's no use.'

Potter takes a step forward, reaching out to slip a hand around Malfoy's wrist. 'I don't want to give up,' he says.

Malfoy glances up, a wry smirk lifting his lips but not touching his eyes. 'You never do.'

Potter leans forward, and they're almost nose to nose. 'There's got to be a way to make this work,' says Potter, his voice low and imploring. 'I know I've been a git lately but I was just confused. Your letters took me by surprise and I was angry. And then Luna gave me your letter book and…I just…I know you want this.'

'We don't always get what we want, Potter,' says Malfoy, taking a pointed step back, pulling his arm free from Potter's grasp.

'So that's it?' asks Potter. 'It's all just…over?'

'I'm sorry,' says Malfoy. 'We still have Blue, and I doubt Myrtle will let us out of our arrangement so we'll see each other there, and there's class, so—'

Potter is shaking his head. 'No, I can't do that. I can't just pretend that none of this ever happened and still make nice. It's not fair. You can't expect me to do that.'

Malfoy frowns, looking away across the room. 'So we can't be friends, then?'

Potter looks exasperated. 'You want to be friends?' he asks, incredulously. 'So, we can't be together, but we can be friends?'

'I…' Malfoy sighs. 'No, I guess not.'

'What happened?' asks Potter. 'At Christmas. What happened that changed your mind. Can't you at least tell me that?'

'What makes you think something happened?'

Potter rolls his eyes. 'Because we were fine, and we were making this work and then all of a sudden you were saying it was over. And don't tell me it wasn't working because it _was_.'

Malfoy steps further away. 'Maybe it did, when it was just you and me. But do you really think it'll be the same out there? As soon as they know they'll tear us apart. They'll say we can't be together. They'll _ruin_ us.'

'Not if we don't let them.'

Malfoy groans and leans back into the wall, running his hands through his hair and dislodging the pristinely arranged strands. 'Merlin talking to you is like talking to a wall. You just don't listen. All we're doing is going around and around in circles.'

'Only because you're determined to wreck things.'

Malfoy pushes off from the wall and turns to look at Potter. 'The other night I had a nightmare that we'd been found out,' he says, his voice calm and serious. 'They had you, and somehow they knew about us. And before I could even think of what to do they killed you, right in front of me. Making me watch.'

Potter's eyes go wide, the blood draining away from his face.

'When I woke up,' Malfoy continues. 'I was confused. For a split second I thought it was real. I thought...I thought you were really dead.' He shudders. 'You've no idea how…anyway. The point is it won't be me who wrecks things, Harry.'

Potter is quiet. He opens his mouth several times, but closes it without saying anything.

Malfoy looks away, stuffing his hands into his pockets and leaning back against the wall again. 'If we're caught, it'll be over in more ways than one. For both of us. That's something that I really don't want.'

The quiet stretches out between them. Malfoy continues to stare up at the ceiling while Potter stares off into the distance with a slight frown. Phineas is getting ready to leave, eager to give Albus this news so he can at least have a break from spying on teenagers, but then Potter breaks the silence.

'I understand,' he says, his gaze still unfocused.

Malfoy frowns. 'You do?'

Potter shrugs, still gazing across the room. 'I have nightmares too. All the time. And I get it. Being around me is dangerous. I…I wouldn't want you to get hurt because of me.'

'You think I'm worried about myself?'

'No, I—'

'Merlin you're dense,' Malfoy snaps, straightening up off the wall. 'If they find out about us, they'll kill you just to punish me. I can't…I don't want you to die.'

Potter blinks. 'You're worried about me?'

Malfoy sighs and rolls his eyes. 'Merlin, I'm not heartless, Potter. Of course I'm worried about you. You seem to find trouble around every corner. Just look what happened this morning with Blue.'

'That wasn't—ugh. Look, I get it, okay? You don't want to be with someone who's probably going to die. That's a sucky position to be in and I understand. You could've just said that in the first place instead of going on about how we don't work together.'

Malfoy gapes at Potter. 'What the hell are you talking about? I don't—that's not—bloody hell, Potter I don't want them to hurt you because of me.'

'They'll hurt me anyway,' says Potter. 'You think Voldemort cares who I'm dating? He wants me dead. Period.'

Malfoy frowns, looking away. 'I know you want to fight. I know you can't help yourself. But…if you just stay out of his way, he'll leave you alone. He will.'

Potter laughs and shakes his head. 'No, he won't.'

'He doesn't care about you! He wants Dumbledore dead, not you. If you just—'

'Draco,' says Potter, bemusement written all over his face. 'Of course he's going to come after me. He's never _not_ going to come after me. One of us has to die and…look I'm not stupid, I know the chances of it being me are pretty high so I get that you don't want to invest time in a relationship with someone whose probably not going to be around.'

Malfoy stares at Potter for a long moment, his eyes wide and his face pale. 'What're you talking about?' he asks, his voice low and hoarse.

Potter tilts his head and frowns. 'The prophecy,' he says slowly. 'I thought you knew about this?'

Malfoy stares at him for a long moment. 'The prophecy says one of you has to die?'

'Yeah,' says Potter, still confused. 'That's where all that chosen one nonsense came from. You, you really didn't know?'

'I knew there was a prophecy but no one told me what it was about,' says Malfoy, his voice strained, 'I…I thought all that stuff about you being the chosen one was just an extension of the whole Boy Who Lived thing and the fact that you were there at the Department of Mysteries, I didn't realise…I don't…Merlin…he really will come after you.'

Potter steps forward, hesitates and then goes still. 'I'm sorry,' he says. 'I thought you knew.'

'I didn't,' says Malfoy, his voice dry.

'It's okay,' says Potter, and shrugs again. 'I've kinda accepted it.'

'Accepted it?' Malfoy asks, his voice cracking like a whip, snapping back to harsh and cold as his gaze locks on Potter. 'You've _accepted_ it?'

Potter frowns at him, clearly confused by Malfoy's reaction. 'Well, yeah. What else can I do?'

'So, what, you're just going to lay down and die?'

'No, of course not. But…I can't avoid this. I don't have a choice. I have to fight.'

Malfoy closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. 'But you are going to fight, right? You're not just going to give up.'

A soft smile lifts Potter's lips. 'You said it yourself, right? I never do.'

Malfoy opens his eyes, and Phineas is surprised to see pain clear in those blue eyes. Malfoy eyes inherited from his father. Everything about the boy is his father, and yet, the expression on his face makes Phineas think of Narcissa. She always did get too emotional attached.

Malfoy slumps back against the wall. 'Merlin this is a mess.'

Potter tilts his head. He turns and mimics Malfoy's position against the wall, leaning back and gazing up at the ceiling.

'Yeah,' he says. 'Sorry about that.'

'Why can't things ever be simple with you?'

'I ask myself that all the time,' says Potter with a wry smile.

'Damnit,' Malfoy scowls. 'What the hell am I supposed to do now?'

Potter turns his head, looking at Malfoy. 'What do you mean?' he asks.

'Well I can't just…you're not…they can't…ugh!' Malfoy scrubs a hand over his face. 'Why is it when I'm with you I become a complete blithering idiot. Is incoherency contagious or something?'

Potter grins. 'Are you saying I make you speechless?'

'No,' Malfoy snaps, and rolls his eyes. 'I'm saying you make me stupid. Merlin can't you take anything seriously?'

'If I did that I'd be a complete wreck.'

'You're already a complete wreck.'

'Yeah well that's what I have…' Potter trails off, the amusement dying out of his eyes. He coughs, and looks away.

'That's what you have me for,' says Malfoy in a strange tone. 'Is that what you were going to say?'

Potter glances back up, a faint flush spreading across his cheeks. He turns to face Malfoy, leaning only his shoulder on the wall. 'Yeah,' he says and drops his gaze to his feet. 'I wish things were different.'

'I know. If we were anyone else…don't suppose you'd be up for disappearing?'

A sly grin spreads across Potter's face. 'Are you asking me to run away with you?'

Malfoy smirks. 'Maybe.'

Potter laughs, but the mirth swallowed up quickly by a sigh.

Malfoy's smirk dims. 'That's a no, right?'

Bitter sadness washes over Potter. 'I can't leave. I have to…'

'I know,' says Malfoy, looking away. 'You wouldn't be you if you left.'

He sighs and tilts his head back up.

'What're we going to do?' asks Potter in a quiet voice.

Malfoy closes his eyes. 'I don't know. I can't change sides. My mother…'

'I know. I'd never ask you to.'

'But I don't want you to die.'

'Yeah…' says Potter, grinning as he shifts closer to Malfoy along the wall. 'I'd rather that didn't happen too.'

Malfoy shoots him an irritated look.

'I know, I know,' says Potter. 'I don't take anything seriously.'

He turns so his back is against the wall again, his shoulder almost against Malfoy's. Without looking at him, Malfoy reaches over and takes Potter's hand.

A soft smile grazes Potter's lips.

'When I woke up from that nightmare,' says Malfoy. 'When I thought you were really dead…' he swallows audibly. 'I don't know what to do anymore.'

Potter sighs and looks down. He glances over at Malfoy and, with a reluctant smile, pulls his hand free and steps away from the wall.

'I promise I won't be a git anymore, okay?' he says.

He offers Malfoy a sad smile, and turns and heads toward the door, weaving through the tables in the room. Malfoy stares after him, conflicting emotions warring across his face.

'Harry,' he calls, and his voice is tight and high.

Potter turns back, and in a rush of movement, Malfoy is there, grabbing Potter's robes and yanking him close, slamming their lips together in a kiss that is more desperation than passion. Phineas raises his eyebrows.

There's no hesitation from Potter, and despite his earlier irritation at Malfoy, he's kissing back with as much ferocity as Malfoy is giving.

Potter groans and pulls back, dropping his forehead against Malfoy's. 'We can't keep doing this,' he whispers. 'You said it yourself, all we're doing is going around in circles. If this is what you really want, I'm all in. But I can't keep thinking this is happening only to have you pull away again.'

Malfoy winces. 'I know. I just…I can't help it.'

'Then we're in serious trouble,' says Potter. 'Because neither can I.'

'Maybe…maybe there's something I can do,' says Malfoy, and trails one hand down from Potter's shoulder to grasp at his wrist. 'To stop them from hurting you. Or—'

'Draco,' says Potter. 'We both know you can't switch sides.'

'I _know_. I just…'

'Don't want to watch me die,' says Potter with a sigh.

'This isn't fair,' Malfoy complains. 'Why did it have to be you?'

'Why did it have to be _you_ ,' Potter retorts.

Malfoy sighs heavily. 'Who knows,' he says in a dubious tone. 'Maybe you're right. Maybe we can rewrite our stars?'

'Maybe we can,' says Potter, a smile in his voice.

An idea stirs in Phineas' mind. He looks at them more closely, but particularly at Malfoy. At the way he stares at Potter. Try as the boy might to deny his feelings, he still looks at Potter like the boy is the sun. It's the same way Andromeda used to look at that awful boy Ted, and Phineas knows already how this will end. The question is, can Albus use this to his advantage?

From the look on Malfoy's face, and the conversation Phineas has heard, he thinks maybe they can. Without a backwards glance, Phineas leaves the portrait and makes the long trek back up through the portraits to Albus' office.

In true Albus fashion the man's expression doesn't change as Phineas retells the long and dramatic conversation between Potter and Malfoy, but Phineas thinks he detects a slight eyebrow twitch when he gets to the kissing—honestly, a castle full of portraits and _no one_ else had discovered this secret relationship?

Still, at least Phineas can be sure that Albus gets the right idea.

'Malfoy seemed quite distressed by his conflicting loyalties,' says Phineas, finishing his tale.

'Indeed,' says Albus, developing a far off look. 'I don't blame him. It must be a difficult place to be in.'

'It must be,' says Phineas. 'If only there were a way he could reconcile those loyalties.'

Albus glances up with the kind of vague smile that so often frustrates Phineas. 'If only,' he says.

Phineas raises an eyebrow. He's wondering if he's going to have to spell it out for the man, when he summons an owl and sends it off with a brief note.

It doesn't take long. An hour later Draco Malfoy slinks into the office. Though Phineas doubts the boy had a chance to get back to the dorms before receiving the note, he's back to his pristine and arrogant self. Though Phineas thinks he detects a hint of nervousness.

'You asked to see me,' Malfoy says after a few moments of standing awkwardly by the door. 'Sir,' he adds belatedly.

Albus looks up and smiles genially. 'Ah, Mr Malfoy. Yes sit down. We need to talk.'


	42. Lost Wands and Locker Rooms

**A/N:** You guys are all awesome so I put a rush on this one (I hope it turns out okay).

* * *

Chapter Forty-Two

 _Lost Wands and Locker Rooms_

 ** _Ron:_**

Ron scowls as he stomps back to the quidditch pitch locker rooms. He's worn out from the game and really not in the mood for the long trek back to the pitch, but seeing as he's gone and left his wand in there he really doesn't have a choice. He sighs and tries not to think about Hermione's berating voice in his head.

He wonders if Harry is still practicing, but he can't see him out in the pitch itself. Ron shoves his hands into his pockets and kicks at the grass. Practice. He scoffs. Harry just wanted to keep flying. He doesn't _care_ about practice or how much effort Ron had put into devising their game strategies.

He shakes his head and heads into the locker rooms. The showers are going and Ron's about to call out to let Harry know he's there, when he hears someone who is not Harry talking.

He stops in the hallway and listens.

'…why you even bother,' Malfoy is saying.

Ron grimaces. Great. The Slytherin team was here. Ron sighs and contemplates coming back later, but the only thing worse than dealing with the Slytherins was having one of them find his wand.

'You're clearly not cut out to be captain,' Malfoy continues. 'At the very least take a little damn pride in the job. You looked like a bunch of ants in a rain storm up there. All of you flapping about without a clue of what was going on.'

Ron raises his eyebrows and waits for the Slytherin captain to reply, expecting Malfoy to get torn a new one, but instead the voice he hears is _Harry's._

'It's not like I want to be captain,' says Harry. 'Nothing ever works out the way it's supposed to. We can practice the manoeuvres 'til the sun goes down but that doesn't mean that's how it'll play out on the pitch.'

'It's called adaptability, Potter. Look it up. You _adapt_ the plays based on what's happening.'

Harry is in there. Harry is in there with Malfoy and—the spray of water echoes in the background—either one of them is in the shower or they're not alone in there.

Ron's mind reels.

'I can't!' Harry is saying. 'It's not like they're even my strategies.'

'Well then whose are they?'

'Ron's. Look, all I care about is getting to the snitch. I can't focus on that _and_ on what everyone else is doing. Ron's better at that stuff than I am.'

'So just make him captain.'

Malfoy says it so flippantly, as if it's not at all out of character for _Malfoy_ to suggest that _Ron_ be captain of the Gryffindor quidditch team. Ron shakes his head, baffled by the whole situation. So far he hasn't heard anyone else, and he edges forward, trying to get a glimpse of the room.

The shower shuts off, and Harry's voice echoes in the silence. 'You want me to make Ron captain?'

'Well, _anybody_ could do a better job than you,' there's a brief pause before he adds, 'Are you sure _Weasley_ comes up with the plans? I mean, the idiot left his bloody wand behind.'

The mention of Ron's wand pushes him forward, and he risks a peek around the corner.

The room is empty but for Malfoy, who is laying on one of the benches, twirling a wand— _Ron's_ wand—in his hand as he looks up at the ceiling. Fury surges through Ron, coiling tight in his gut, and he struggles for a moment to control it as blood rushes in his ears. He takes a deep breath to steady himself, only managing to keep hold of his temper because he's yet to see where Harry is—and what the hell he's doing here with Malfoy.

'Be nice,' comes Harry's muffled voice from one of the shower stalls.

As long as Ron has known him, Harry has hated changing in front of other people—let alone showering when there's people around—and yet here he is. Alone in the shower with Draco sodding Malfoy.

'I am being nice,' Malfoy says indignantly, tilting his head back to look toward the shower stalls.

Harry snorts.

'Well I'm _trying_ to be nice,' says Malfoy, looking back up at the ceiling and twirling Ron's wand again.

'Try harder,' says Harry. 'He's my best mate.'

Malfoy sighs heavily. 'Yeah, yeah. I know. I'm being as nice as I can be under the circumstances. It's not easy, you know.'

Harry mutters something low and inaudible, and stomps out from the showers in nothing but his trousers, a towel slung around his shoulders. 'Throw me my shirt will you?'

Malfoy tilts his head back again. He grins and looks back up at the ceiling, continuing to twirl the wand. 'Pass.'

Harry rolls his eyes. 'Git.'

'Prat,' Malfoy retorts.

Harry makes for the pile of clothes on the bench next to Malfoy, but Malfoy catches his arm as he tries to pass.

'Why do you need that for?'

Harry snorts again. 'What, you want me to walk around like this?'

Malfoy sits up, grinning. 'Definitely.'

Harry blushes. He actually _blushes_.

Ron feels like he's entered another reality. There's his best friend, in nothing but his trousers, hair still dripping wet and _blushing_ at _Draco Malfoy_.

What.

The.

Fuck?

Harry scratches at the back of his head, like he always does when he's embarrassed, and pulls away. 'What're you even doing here?' he asks, looking down at Malfoy.

'You were flying,' he says.

'So?'

'So, I like watching you fly.'

Harry's blush deepens and in a motion that is filled with embarrassment, he picks the towel back up to scrub at his hair, seemingly unbothered by the confession that Malfoy is _spying_ on him.

Ron bristles. He's all but ready to step into the room and ask what the _hell_ is going on.

He knows they've had to learn to get along since McGonagall's stupid seating plan. And sure, maybe he gets that. But this? This is more than just being civil, more even than being _friendly._ This is—

Harry shifts, and something catches at Ron's attention. He frowns, leaning out from his spot just beyond the doorway, staring at the unfamiliar markings on Harry's back in confusion. His brain takes a moment too long to recognise what they are. They criss-cross their way across his back in varying shades of pink and red, some thick and some needle thin, leaving Harry's back a disorganised mess of…of…scars.

They're scars.

Ron's mouth goes dry. He stares, unable to move. Unable to _think_. The entire conversation preceding this image suddenly seems so unimportant in comparison to _how_ Harry got those scars. They're recently healed—though badly—and Ron remembers the stiff way Harry moved at the end of the holidays.

Hermione's words come back to him. ' _You don't think it's weird that he can't explain where he was? Even to us.'_

She was right. Something had happened to him during the attack and he had hidden it from them. _Lied_ to them.

It wasn't the only thing he'd lied about.

'Give me my shirt, would you?' says Harry, his voice quiet as he glances back over at Malfoy.

'Feeling exposed?' asks Malfoy.

'Yes,' says Harry, and coughs, rubbing the back of his neck. 'And…you're staring.'

Malfoy looks away, grimacing. 'Sorry,' he says, tossing Harry his shirt. 'Did you end up talking to Pomfrey?'

'Yeah,' says Harry, dumping the towel and yanking the shirt over his head. 'Curse scars. I'm stuck with them, just like all the rest.'

'I'm sorry.'

Sorry? What was he sorry about? Did he know what happened? Or was _he_ what happened? Ron scowled. If Malfoy was the cause of those scars, Ron would kill him. No matter how friendly Harry was being with him.

'So,' says Malfoy, clearing his throat.

He stands up, turning to face Harry, his expression returning to familiar cockiness and self-importance. Ron scowls and wishes his bat boogey hex was as good as Ginny's.

'I have news.'

Harry tilts his head. 'Yeah? Hey, have you seen my glasses? I can't see a bloody thing.'

Malfoy grins and steps closer. He pulls Harry's glasses out of his pocket, and slides them onto Harry's face in a gesture that even Ron knows is far too intimate for supposed rivals.

'I did it,' he says. 'I rewrote our stars.'

Harry blinks several times, but doesn't move. Doesn't step away. Doesn't put the space back between them. Ron's mind is trying furiously to show him what's happening, to connect the dots, but he shakes his head, shying away from the situation. Harry wouldn't. He _wouldn't_. Liking blokes is one thing, but Draco _Malfoy_?

'You…' Harry's eyes go wide. 'Please tell me you didn't do anything stupid.'

Malfoy smirks. 'Of course not. Stupid is your domain.'

'Draco—'

'Relax,' he says, and brushes Harry's hair out of his face. 'You wanted me to find a way, and I did. So,' he leans forward and, almost nose to nose, he says, 'stop complaining and kiss me.'

Black fury wells in Ron's gut. He wants Harry to pull away. To punch Malfoy. To tell him to back off.

Harry doesn't do any of those things. He grins, closes the distance between them, and kisses Malfoy right on his stupid mouth.

Ron shakes his head. He pulls back behind the wall, his face and ears hot with anger, his heart thumping hard against his ribcage. He clenches his fists and wants to hit something.

'So, are you going to tell me how you rewrote our stars?'

'Nope,' says Malfoy.

'Do I need to be worried?'

'Nope,' says Malfoy, and Ron can hear the smirk in his voice. It sets his blood on fire. 'I have a plan.'

'Why doesn't that make me feel any better?'

'Because you're used to dealing with incompetence and stupidity? Ouch! Bloody hell, Potter.'

'You deserved it.'

Malfoy mutters something that's too hard to hear over the roaring in Ron's ears.

'You can't blame me for being cautious,' says Harry. 'Two days ago you were telling me that it was all hopeless.'

'Yeah, well, I found a way to make it less hopeless. Look, can't you just shut up and enjoy the fact that you got what you wanted?'

Ron can't listen to anymore. Before he's even fully thought it through, he's stepping out of the hallway and into the locker room.

He's not sure what he's doing, only that he's furious, and he wants an explanation. He wants and explanation right bloody now.

Green eyes meet his over Malfoy's shoulder and Harry freezes.

'What?' asks Malfoy. 'Do I have something in my hair?'

Harry steps back from Malfoy, the blood draining from his face as he stares at Ron in mute horror.

Malfoy glances over his shoulder. 'What? What is—Oh fuck.'

Ron stares at them, unable to think of any words to say. He's so angry his entire body is hot. He simultaneously wants to yell at Harry and punch Malfoy. His chest heaves and it physically hurts to try and keep his breathing under control.

Harry just stares at him, his throat working, but no words come.

Malfoy, the stupid sodding git, glances back between them but seems to know better than to say anything. Ron almost wishes he does. He'd give anything to have an excuse to hex the bastard. He hates him. He fucking _hates_ him. For six years the blond git has had absolutely nothing but derogatory things to say about Ron, his family, and his friends. And now he's here, with Ron's _best friend_ and—

All of a sudden Ron knows that he can't say anything. Whatever he says while this hot burning feeling is sweeping through him won't be good and he knows he'll never be able to take it back. He clenches his teeth over all the things threatening to spill out. All the anger and hurt and fucking _disbelief_ that Harry could keep this from him, that he could actually _choose_ to spend—

No, no he can't dwell on it.

He turns, his body finally moving under his command again, and storms away.

'Ron, wait—'

He doesn't turn. It doesn't matter that Harry's voice is frantic and worried.

Ron just needs to get away. He needs to process what the fuck he just saw. He needs to figure out how the hell to deal with it before it destroys his friendship with his best friend. Because if there's one thing he's feeling more than the anger, it's fear. Fear that he and Harry will never speak again.

On some level he knows this is exactly why Harry didn't tell him.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hey guys, I wanted to add that there's a high chance of some major smut coming up so I may have to up the rating on this soon. There won't be any sex scenes, but there will be mentions of other activities. None of it will be overly explicit, but I'm going to add a warning at the top of the chapter anyway, just so everyone is forewarned. If this is an issue for anyone please let me know and I can also add a few bold asterisks ( ******* ) within the story before and after the scenes in question. Rest assured these scenes will not be overly frequent, and will only occur when the story requires it.


	43. The Colour of Anger and Love

Chapter Forty-Two

 _The colour of Anger & Love_

 ** _Lavender:_**

Parvati lines up a sash of red over a bright swath of pink fabric. 'Is this too much?' she asks, tilting her head at the colour scheme. 'It's very…pink.'

Lavender steps back from the banner she's working on, considering it with a smile of satisfaction. 'Oh yes, it's _perfect_.'

Parvati shakes her head, though she's smiling. 'Alright,' she says. 'If you say so.'

'I do say so,' says Lavender. 'After all, it's Valentines Day, it's the _day_ of pink.'

'Yeah but…' Parvati sighs. 'I mean, are you sure everyone else will like it? Do you remember when Professor Lockhart organised Valentines…I just, this is our mark. The teachers almost never let students plan things like this, I don't want to mess it up.'

Lavender smiles, and wraps her arm around her friend's shoulders, giving her a little squeeze. 'I know,' she says. 'But just think! This day is as much for us, as it is for everyone else. If we don't like it, how can we expect anyone else to?'

Parvati offers her a small smile, looking back at the banner. 'It is beautiful.'

Lavender squeezes her again. 'Isn't it?' she squeals. 'It's going to be _magic_. Just wait, when we have all—'

The common room door slams open and a familiar flash of red catches Lavender's gaze. She turns, a smile lighting up her face as Ron heads into the room.

'Won Won!' she calls, waving a hand at him.

He glances towards her and Parvati, frowns and drops his gaze. Lavender's smile falters.

Parvati squeezes Lavender's hand. 'Seriously, Lav, I don't understand why you bother with him? He never pays you any attention.'

Lavender purses her lips. Almost instinctively her eyes are drawn to the banners and posters and streamers that she and Parvati have been working on for days. Valentines Day was three days away, and oh, Lavender had such plans. It was the first time she'd have someone to celebrate the day with, and—though Lavender knows that perfection is seldom achieved—she wants the day to be special.

'I better see if he's okay,' she says, pulling herself from Parvati's grasp.

Parvati makes a face, and turns back to their work, leaving Lavender to go after Ron on her own. Lavender can feel her shoulders hunching. She takes a steadying breath and straightens up, flicking her hair back over her shoulder. She hears her mother's voice in her head,

 _"If you look confident, you feel confident."_

She plasters a smile on her face and half jogs after her boyfriend. 'Ron!' Lavender calls, reaching out to catch his arm before he can disappear up the boys dorm steps.

'Not now, Lavender,' he says, his voice low and rough, yanking his arm free from her touch.

She frowns and, trying not to feel hurt by his brusk attitude, follows. 'Are you okay?' she asks. 'Because I can help if—'

'I don't want your help!' he shouts, turning on her, his face mottled red in fiery anger.

Lavender takes half a step back, pulling her arm back as if he burnt her. Conversations around them go quiet and Lavender feels her shoulders turning in again, she swallows, and tries to squash the uncomfortable feeling.

 _If you look confident, you feel confident. If you look confident—_

'Just leave me alone,' Ron says, looking away again and turning back toward the stairwell. 'I'm not in the mood.'

Tears prick at her eyes, heat flushes her face, and Lavender can't help but laugh at the tragic irony. 'Not in the mood? No, of course you aren't,' she sniffs, and straightens her back again, determined not to let him see her cry—Parvati is right, he _doesn't_ pay attention to her. Not unless _he_ feels like it. 'You don't actually like me, do you?'

He glances back at her. 'What? Lavender…for fucks sake this isn't about you, okay?'

'The hell it's not! You never even—'

'Ron!'

Irritation swarms up Lavender's spine. She glances back over her shoulder, preparing herself to tell Harry to bugger off. That is, until she sees the look of complete and utter panic on his face.

'For fucks sake,' Ron growls under his breath.

Surprise washes away some of Lavender's anger. The fury is raging across Ron's face. He shakes his head and turns away.

'Ron! Hang on a minute, just, let me explain—'

'Explain?' Ron whirls around, glowering at his best friend. 'There is _nothing_ you can say that will make what I saw okay!'

'But—'

'Just shut up! I don't want to hear it. I don't want excuses. I don't want more _lies_ —'

Harry shakes his head, taking a step closer, 'I didn't lie, I swear—'

'For fucks sake can't you just listen? I don't want to talk, Harry! If you want to stay friends you'll leave me the fuck alone until I'm ready to talk to you.'

Everyone is staring now, even Lavender.

'What the hell is going on?' asks Ginny, coming over to grab Ron's arm. 'Everyone is staring.'

Ron's gaze flickers to her, annoyance flashing through his still furious expression. 'Nothing,' he snaps, yanking his arm free. 'I'm going upstairs. I swear to Merlin, if any of you follow me, you'll regret it.'

He looks at Harry as he says this, the warning clear in his tone. Then he turns, and without even a single glance at Lavender, he storms up the stairs.

Harry's shoulders slump. Lavender glares at him. The urge to slap him surges through her arm, and she clenches her fist. Her relationship is about to end and _he_ is upset? And of course Ginny steps over to _him_ , concern written all over her face. Concern that neither of them feel for her.

'What the hell was that about?' Ginny asks, staring after her brother.

'He knows,' says Harry in a low, subdued voice, staring at the floor.

Ginny's head snaps back to Harry. 'He _knows_?' she asks. 'About…? But I thought that was over?'

Harry fidgets, shifting his weight from foot to foot and runs a hand through his hair. 'I don't want to talk about it.'

Lavender snorts.

Harry and Ginny both look at her, having obviously forgotten she was standing _right there_ and she flushes.

She crosses her arms, shrugging defensively. 'Not talking seems to be a thing with you boys,' says Lavender.

She turns away before either of them can reply. Whatever is going on between Harry and Ron is—clearly—none of her concern. Ron's stupid friends have made it perfectly clear that they don't like her, and frankly, she's had enough of worrying about what they think.

Parvati is watching her, her face creased in concern. Her gaze shifts over Lavender's shoulder, her frown shifting to annoyance and distrust, and Lavender glances back just as Harry touches her arm.

He hesitates, his hand dropping back down to his side. 'I'm sorry,' he says, not quite meeting her gaze.

She cross her arms again. 'For what?'

He glances away, scratching at the back of his neck. 'Ron. Ginny says…anyway, it was my fault. It's not about you.'

Lavender raises one eyebrow. 'Yes, he said that. But that doesn't mean he can talk to me like that.'

Harry's shoulders slump. 'Yeah,' he sighs glancing back up at the stairwell. 'I'm sorry anyway.'

He looks so utterly miserable that a little of the anger bleeds out of Lavenders muscles. 'Don't worry about it,' she says softly, taking pity on him. 'I'm not going to let some stupid boy ruin my day. No offence,' she adds, glancing at Ginny.

Ginny grins. 'None taken. He's an idiot,' she says. She glances sideways at Harry and slings an arm around his shoulders. 'Cheer up,' she says. 'He'll come around.'

Harry snorts. 'Yeah, right.'

Ginny raises her eyebrows at him. Then she glances towards the work station Lavender and Parvati have set up. She smirks and nudges Harry.

'Well, fine, maybe he won't,' she says. 'But on the plus side Valentines Day is in three days.'

He stares at her incredulously. 'So?'

'So…I hear Lavender's chocolate roses are really quite something,' she winks at Lavender. 'Maybe we should order a few…or a dozen? Grand gestures and all that. You haven't sold out yet have you?'

Lavender smiles. 'Of course not,' she says, then she tilts her head at Harry. 'Do you have someone to buy roses for?'

Harry blinks. In a sudden flush, his face goes beat red. 'Uh, no. No I, uh, I don't think…this isn't, uh…I have to go.'

He turns, starts toward the boys dorm stairs, halts and teeters for a moment. He glances back at them, flushes again and heads for the common room door, shaking his head.

Ginny snickers. 'He is too easy to rile up,' she turns back to Lavender. 'You know what, I think I'll order them for him.'

Lavender raises her eyebrows in surprise. 'Um, okay. I didn't know he has a girlfriend.'

Ginny's grin widens. 'Oh, he doesn't,' she says, then adds, 'never mind, it's a joke. How much for twelve?'

* * *

The day before Valentines Day Lavender is still stewing. Ron hasn't apologised to her yet. He's so distracted by whatever disagreement is going on between him and Harry that he's barely said two words to her. Instead, he spends most of his time glaring furiously at Harry.

Lavender, annoyed that this argument is ruining her chances at a wonderful Valentines, drums her fingers across her table and watches them.

She wants to talk it over with Parvati—has, in fact, discussed it at length late at night—but now Parvati, at a table across from her, might as well be in another country, and well, there's no chance she's even _looking_ in Nott's direction. The boy is basically non-verbal, and even if he _did_ talk, he was certainly not the sympathetic ear she's looking for. There's no way for her to vent her frustrations, and so instead she sits and stews and watches Ron watching Harry.

She watches Ron glare fixedly and wishes that he'd pay her even the slightest bit of attention that he's paying Harry.

She watches Harry sit hunched over and miserable, not daring to look back at his friend, and wishes that whatever it was he'd done to upset Ron he could've just _not_ done it.

She watches Malfoy lean over to select a sugar mouse from the proffered box Professor McGonagall is handing out, how he leans into Harry as he reaches, and wishes she had someone to comfort her that way.

She blinks and straightens up.

Malfoy glances across at Harry as he straightens back up, and there's the slightest flash of worry in his expression that looks completely foreign on his face. Something uncomfortable squirms in her gut, and she fidgets in her chair, nails drumming faster on the desk. She's jealous. She's jealous because—just for a moment—Malfoy had looked worried about Harry. Not worried about any rivalry. Not worried that Harry was going to mess up the class for him. Worried because Harry is quiet and upset and hurting.

How is it that Draco Malfoy can care enough to be worried about Harry being upset, but Lavender's own boyfriend can't bother to care about _her_ that way?

Behind them, Ron snaps, 'could pick any slower, Malfoy?' Far more viciously than Lavender thinks is required. 'None of them are made of gold, you know.'

Without missing a beat, Malfoy leans back, turning in his chair to drawl, 'even if there were, we all know you'd be too stupid to realise it's worth and wind up loosing it anyway.'

Ron's face turns that familiar shade of enraged red, but Professor McGonagall interjects before he open his mouth.

'If either of you speak again you will serve detention tonight. Together.'

Ron seethes quietly, but Malfoy just arches an eyebrow and turns back around.

Now that she's noticed, Lavender can't stop seeing it. All the little things that happen between Malfoy and Harry. The kind of things she's longed for in her own relationship. The way Malfoy shifts, pressing his shoulder against Harry's, even as he reads over his notes. The way he rests his arm on the table so it brushes against Harry's as he writes. The way their gazes keep flicking to each other and then away again, like little secrets no one else can see.

Except that she sees them. She sees it all.

Suddenly, she understands. She understand's Ron's anger, and Harry's misery, and Malfoy's worry. She understands why Ginny wanted to buy 12 dozen roses for Harry to make some grand gesture to someone he's "not" seeing and why the idea of doing so would embarrass him so much.

She understands all these things and, in a rush of excitement barely contains the undignified squeak working it's way through her. She holds onto it, her polished nails ceasing their endless drumming, and finds that she's almost looking forward to Valentines Day again.

She has spent two weeks with Parvati, trying to make the day as magical as possible so that everyone can feel that sweet buzz of warmth that comes from knowing you're special to someone.

She had hoped that _she_ would feel that buzz, and maybe she will—maybe, by the grace of magic, Ron would come to his senses and realise she exists and do something sweet—but the truth is, she probably won't. And that's okay. Because maybe…maybe her actions will help others tell each other how they feel?

She heads out at the end of class, her mind buzzing. She's so lost in her own thoughts that she doesn't realise she's taken the wrong path until she's all alone. She blinks, staring about the empty corridor. Where had everyone gone? She swears she was only just following someone…

Voices catch her attention. Lavender heads toward a corridor on her left and peeks around, spotting Hermione and Blaise Zabini up ahead. Relief floods through her. She must have accidentally followed them to Ancient Runes.

'You honestly expect me to believe that you don't know what's going on?' Zabini is saying, one eyebrow arched artfully.

He's attractive, in a tall, dark and arrogant sort of way, and thinks that she wouldn't mind being stuck next to _him_. At least he was nice to look at—certainly nicer than _Nott_.

Hermione sighs, shrugging with her hands. 'I honestly don't,' she says, frustration underlining her voice. 'Neither of them will talk to me.'

Lavender shakes herself, starting to turn away as she realises they're probably having a private conversation.

'They're you're best friends,' says Zabini. 'Neither of them have said _anything_?'

'No,' says Hermione, frustrated, and Lavender realises they're talking about Harry and Ron.

She hesitates.

'You have an idea about what's going on, though?' asks Zabini.

'Of course.'

'And?'

'And what?' says Hermione. 'I thought you wanted to talk about the bet.'

'Isn't that what we're doing?' asks Zabini in a sly undertone.

Hermione glances off to the side, chewing on her bottom lip. Zabini smirks.

'I knew it. You think it's about them too, don't you?'

Them? Did they mean…?

'Well, maybe,' says Hermione, brushing a lock of curly hair behind her shoulder. 'They've only fought like this once before but…well, this isn't like then. They're not really fighting so much as Ron isn't speaking to Harry. Harry is desperate to fix it, but for whatever reason, I can't get him to talk about it.'

'For whatever reason?' asks Zabini doubtfully. He snorts and shakes his head. 'Potter's about as subtle as an ox.'

'Well,' says Hermione in agreement.

'Weasley saw something, right? He has to have,' says Zabini. 'Draco's been tenser than a snake coiled up in winter time. As vicious as one too. Frankly it's becoming a pain in the arse to put up with him. And if I so much as _mention_ Potter's name…'

Hermione's gaze narrows. 'Well if he's getting annoyed, then that doesn't bode well for you, now does it?'

'He's not _annoyed_ exactly. There are degrees to Draco's moods. This is…well it's more concern than anything else. And annoyance that I've noticed. He doesn't like looking vulnerable.'

'I'm sure he'd be pleased to hear you say so.'

Zabini snorts again. 'He'd skin me alive.'

Hermione rolls her eyes doubtfully. 'Isn't he a bit squeamish for that?'

'Mock him all you want,' says Zabini darkly, 'but you've never seen him loose his temper. He's scarier than he looks. Besides, that's not the point.'

'Oh, and what's the point?'

'Don't beat around the bush, Granger. They're obviously friends. Weasley has cottoned on to the fact and now he's pissed. Admit it, you lost.'

Hermione crosses her arms. 'We don't know that I'm wrong.'

Zabini scoffs. 'He hasn't switched. Trust me.'

'Then I don't see how they can be friends,' says Hermione, shaking her head. 'Harry wouldn't just be friends with someone on the other side.'

'That's because they aren't just friends.'

Zabini and Hermione both jump, and Lavender blinks, just as surprised as they are for having spoken. They both stare at her, obviously not having realised she was there.

'I must say,' says Lavender, eyeing Hermione with interest. 'I had heard about the bet among the Slytherins, but I'm surprised _you're_ involved.'

Hermione flushes, but Zabini waves a hand at her before she can speak. He turns to Lavender, regarding her fully.

'Not "just" friends? You aren't suggesting that they're dating, are you?'

She laughs. 'Of course they are. Isn't it obvious?'

'You said yourself that something was going on,' says Hermione, looking at Zabini doubtfully.

'Yeah, as a joke,' he shakes his head at her. 'You're the one always saying that they'd never be friends.'

Lavender, who has just spent an entire lesson watching Malfoy and Harry interact, shakes her head. 'Being friends is different than being in a relationship. You can't help who you like.'

'And you think they like each other?' Zabini asks.

Lavender shrugs. 'I've spent the last few weeks getting ready for Valentines Day. People order flowers from me, bouquets and chocolates and cards with poems and sonnets. Plenty of the matches would surprise you.'

'But Potter and Malfoy?'

'They're always...touching.'

Zabini shrugs. 'They sit together in class, of course they touch.'

Lavender laughs again. 'Oh, _trust_ me. I sit next to Nott. If they didn't want to be touching, they wouldn't be. Every time they pass a sheet of parchment, or a quill, or a textbook…they don't just sit together because they have to, they _sit together_. Pressed up close. You don't do that with someone you hate, and you don't do that with friends. They're together.'

She smirks, pleased at the look of dawning realisation blossoming on each of their faces. She had noticed something they—the top of their class—had not. She had connected the dots where they couldn't. Besides, Zabini and Hermione might be book smart, but relationships are were Lavender shines.

'Lavender,' says Hermione in a careful voice. 'You haven't told anyone about this, have you?'

The pleased feeling vanishes. 'Do you really think that little of me?' Lavender asks, her voice low.

Hermione levels her with a cool gaze. 'I've been your roommate for six years. You're a gossip, Lavender. You always have been.'

Lavender glares, fury surging up her spine. 'I'm not _cruel_. Shocking as it might seem to you, I'd never Out, Harry.'

'Potter's _gay_?'

Lavender spins around. Dread drops like a heavy stone in her gut. Behind her, eyebrows raised and a grin that is more than a little malicious spreading across his stupid face, is Zacharias Smith.

'Oh my god,' Lavender whispers, hand flying to her mouth in mortification.

What had she done?

'Smith,' says Hermione, her voice calm and deadly even. 'How long have you been eavesdropping?'

'Long enough to know the Chosen One is a poofter,' he says, smirking. 'Oh, this is going to be good.'

'You're right,' says Zabini, and Lavender glances back in time to see him withdraw his wand. 'It is.'


	44. Double Cross

Chapter Forty-Four

 _Double Cross_

 ** _Severus:_**

'Severus?' Albus repeats, in an infuriatingly amused and knowing tone of voice. 'Will you agree to help young Mr Malfoy?'

Severus reigns in the black rage that is threatening to obscure all his thoughts. 'Seeing as you've already agreed to this foolish plan, I don't really have a choice, do I?'

'Of course you do, my dear boy,' says Dumbledore, a genial smile on that infuriating face.

Severus rolls his eyes. 'Oh of course,' he scoffs. 'My choice is to refuse help, and risk the endangerment of my godson, whom I've sworn to protect—which you well know—or willingly help him in this ridiculous scheme you've cooked up, putting him in the direct line of fire of the Dark Lord. What in the name of magic were you thinking, Albus?'

'The boy came to me, Severus,' says Albus. 'What would you have me do, turn him away?'

'Yes!'

'Come now, Severus. The boy wants to help, who am I to deny him?'

Severus pushes up from his chair, his face twisting into a scowl. 'There is help and there is _this_ ,' he snaps. 'The boy is seventeen, Albus. This is too much!'

'Need I remind you that Harry is younger.'

Severus scoffs. 'And need I remind _you_ that I have never approved of how you treat him. Raising him like a lamb to slaughter.'

'Severus—'

'No,' says Severus, shaking his head. 'I'll not have you turn Draco into another one of your sacrifices. Draco is not ready for this responsibility.'

'I thought you wanted to help Harry,' Albus says in that soft, kindly voice designed to make him feel guilty.

'This has nothing to do with Potter.'

'Of course it does,' says Albus. 'You and I both know that I do not have much time remaining. Harry will need as many allies as possible after I'm gone.'

'Well he can't have this one!'

Thoroughly done with this conversation, Severus turns and stomps across the room, his fury peaking too high for him to deal with Albus' nonsense.

'Severus, please—'

'Excuse me, Albus, I have to go talk some sense into my godson,' growls Severus.

He storms from the room. He heads straight for the dungeons, determined to get a hold of Draco before he can make any other foolish decisions.

He finds Draco exactly where he expects to, in the potions rooms. Zabini is in there, and Severus stifles the urge to hex the boy. There's _another_ of his Slytherin's whose been making idiotic decisions lately.

'—doing you a favour, you know,' Zabini is saying.

Draco snorts. 'And why in Merlin's name would I need you to hex that idiot Hufflepuff? I'm perfectly capable of handling the likes of Zacharias Smith.'

'Maybe _you_ are, but I figured that—'

'Zabini,' Severus barks, pushing into the room and making both boys jump. 'Get out.'

He's already had to deal with the Smith situation once today, and is in no mood to listen to anymore of Zabini's excuses on the matter.

'Er, yes Sir,' says Zabini, wincing and glancing sideways at Draco.

He shrugs, drops the ladle he's using to stir a potion on the table, and casts a stasis spell on his cauldron. Then he edges out of the room.

As the door closes, Severus casts a quick but complex privacy charm. Draco frowns at the door in concern, sensing the magic and turning to Severus enquiringly.

'Is everything—'

'What were you thinking?' Severus snaps, cutting him off. 'Do you have any idea how completely _stupid_ this idea is?'

Draco blinks and his expression turns cool. He straightens his shoulders. 'I'm not sure what you're talking about?' he says stiffly.

Severus scowls. Idiot boy. 'You needn't bother with subterfuge, I just came from Albus' office.'

Draco stiffens, his ladle going still. Whatever potion he's working on is obviously delicate, as the moment Draco stops stirring, the potion shifts colour.

'Apparently,' Severus says, ignoring the potion situation, 'he has given you a task which requires my assistance _._ Which is strange, because I thought I was already giving you assistance with an entirely _different_ task.'

Draco's eyes go wide. 'He told you…' his face goes pale, but if anything he straightens even further, his expression hardening. 'No one will believe you.'

Severus raises an eyebrow. 'No one will believe that you've switched sides? No. I doubt they will. I hardly believe it myself.'

Draco doesn't answer.

The potion beside him begins to bubble, but Draco doesn't take his eyes of Severus. With a start, Severus realises that he doesn't trust him. Not even to deal with an unstable potion.

He sighs and runs a hand over his face. Before either of them can become splattered in whatever half brewed potion Draco has been working on, Severus vanishes the contents.

'What were you thinking?' he asks again, his tone far more tired than he intended it to sound. 'Do you realise the situation you've put yourself in? How dangerous it is? Playing both sides is no easy feat, Draco.'

Somethings shifts in Draco's expression, his eyes widening ever so slightly as he realises the meaning behind Severus' words. 'Mother was right,' he murmurs.

Severus arches one brow, but neither confirms nor denies the accusation. 'What will you tell the Dark Lord when you fail to complete your task?' he asks instead. 'I assume if you're helping Albus Dumbledore you no longer have any intention of killing him?'

Draco looks away, scowling.

'And what of your mother?' Severus asks. 'What will you tell her when your actions put her in Azkaban?'

'I would never,' Draco says, fury surging through his posture, his fists clenching.

Severus merely scoffs.

'Dumbledore made me a deal,' he says through clenched teeth. 'If I help him, he'll keep mother out of prison.'

Severus clenches his jaw. 'What is it with everyone thinking Albus can help them? He's not infallible you know? You really think he can protect your mother? Protect _you_?'

Draco looks away again. 'I don't have to explain myself to you.'

'Who is it?'

Sullen blue eyes flicker back to Severus. 'What?'

'Who is it,' asks Severus again, 'Which boy has you so wrapped around his finger that you think _spying_ for Albus bloody Dumbledore is a good idea?'

Surprise makes Draco jerk and he gapes at Severus, clearly stunned by Severus' accurate knowledge—ha, so clearly he wasn't honest with Albus about _everything_. 'I…what? There's not, I'm not…what the hell? There isn't anyone!'

'I don't believe you,' says Severus coolly.

'There _isn't_ ,' Draco says hotly, fists clenched again.

Severus sneers. 'Well, if you're going to be stupid enough to lie to me—'

'I'm not lying!'

'Oh please. You adore your mother. There isn't a chance you'd betray her unless someone else were pulling the strings.'

'I'm not betraying my—you know what? No. I'm not doing this. I don't have to explain myself to you. I love my mother, I would never hurt her.'

'And yet you are.'

'No, I'm not! I can make sure she's safe, no matter what happens I can protect her and I can protect—,'

Severus smirks in victory. 'You can protect, _who_ exactly?'

Draco scowls.

'You might as well tell me. Your mother has already told me it's a half blood.'

'Mother told you…why the hell would she tell _you_ that?'

Severus raises his eyebrow again, and feels like it's going to get permanently stuck in that position. 'Because she wanted to make sure you'd be _safe_. She wanted me to get out out, and under the protection of the Order in case this… _relationship_ became too serious.'

Draco stares at him, mute in shock. 'She…she asked you to get me to the Order?'

'Yes. Which, mind you, would've been a far better option than pawning yourself out as a _spy_. You need to think this through, spying on the Dark Lord is a serious and _dangerous_ endeavour.'

'You do it,' mutters Draco, glancing away again.

'Yes, and I have to be careful about _everything_ I do. For Merlin's sake, Draco, is this boy really worth risking your life? Switch sides if you must, but spying? Do you think this boy would want you to sacrifice yourself for the likes of Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter.'

Something shifts in Draco's expression. Some strange mix of determination, fear and longing. At first Severus doesn't understand it, but Draco drops his eyes away and something in Severus's gut clenches.

He closes his eyes. 'For the love of magic, tell me it isn't Harry Potter.'

'Of course not,' Draco snaps. 'I despise Potter, everyone knows that.'

The line is so automatic that it's almost believable. Except there's a slight ring of it being _rehearsed_ , as if Draco has said it over and over again, as if to convince himself it's true.

Severus narrows his gaze, and without a moments hesitation he dives into Draco's mind.

Draco's mental defence is at least good enough for him to notice Severus' presence, but the flimsy defence he puts up is pathetic and crumbles easily under Severus' will.

He shoves further in, and Draco staggers back, gasping, a hand flying to his head.

He tries to distract Severus, tries to swamp him with memories of horses and essay writing and potions practice, and for a moment it works. Until Severus catches a glimpse of Potter in one of the memories, and he grabs hold of it.

That's all it takes. Draco's mental energy is frantic, but he's too focused on Potter now to stop the memories. Everything he doesn't want Severus to see comes rushing to the forefront of his mind.

There are more memories than Severus is prepared for. Not the fighting, ugly rivalry of the past, but something new, full of secret smiles and teasing laughter. Potter's face appears over and over. Green eyes bright, every facial expression—expressions that through Draco's eyes, look disturbingly like _her_. The images are crisp and clear, clearly well memories, every smile a treasured memory that Draco frantically tries to yank away from him.

It's far worse than Severus feared. He's overwhelmed by memories of secret meetings, of sneaking away to be alone.

A memory of Neville Longbottom's startled face surfaces and—

A stinging hex finally jerks Severus out of Draco's mind, and he steps back, wincing.

'You,' gasps Draco, half bent over, one hand on his head the other on his wand, 'had no right.'

'Oh, and I suppose you think the Dark Lord will respect your privacy, do you?'

Draco doesn't answer. He's panting, his eyes squeezed shut in pain, and Severus feels a small twinge of guilt. He tries for a different tactic.

'You understand that he is hunted by the Dark Lord?' he says in a softer voice. 'You realise there is no future with him?'

Blue eyes snap open, stormy and full of fire. 'You don't know that.'

'Yes, I do. I've been here before, Draco. It doesn't work, trust me.'

'You've been here before?' Draco asks, laughing in disbelief.

'Yes,' Severus all but growls. 'I have. There is no future with Potter.'

Draco straightens up, his expression going flat. 'You're wrong,' he says, his voice hard and cold. 'You haven't been here. You didn't even _try._ You gave up. You let her go.'

Severus startles, shocked that Draco would even dare mention Severus past, shocked that he even _knows_.

'But I won't do that,' Draco says, face stony and determined. 'I won't leave him, and I sure as shit won't let anyone get their hands on him. You became a spy because she died, I became one to make sure he never does. That's the difference between you and me.'

Before Severus can even think of a reply Draco shoves past him and stalks out of the room, not even giving Severus a backwards glance.

* * *

 **A/N:** Sorry there wasn't more about Blaise and Zach's fight; but this was the chapter I had planned next, and I really like it - I hope you guys do to :)


	45. Out of the Closet and Into the Storm

_**AN:**_ This chapter kinda got away from me; but I kinda like it.

Also time for a warning: This chapter contains **sexual material** , there is a chapter summary at the end for those who would prefer not to read.

* * *

Chapter Forty-Five

 _Out of the Closet and Into the Storm_

 ** _Draco:_**

Pink and red streamers, clear balloons filled with little love notes, and a grotesque amount of glitter adorn the walls and entrance door to the Great Hall. The smell of chocolate fills the room, not just from the huge pots of warm, frothy hot chocolate, and the copious amounts of heart shaped cookies spread across the tables, but from the dozens and dozens of hand grown roses being handed out joyously by a dozen or so house elves.

The fine edible petals would almost be impressive, what with their shimmery and translucent colour and aromatic taste of chocolate, but Draco is too distract to really pay them any mind.

Instead all he can focus on is the utterly miserable look on Harry's face as he sorts through the copious amount of red, heart shaped letters that have landed in front of him. People stare at him and whisper—as if none of them have ever heard of subtly—and Harry's shoulders turn inwards.

As Draco watches, a tall brunette seventh year approaches, a shy smile on his face. Harry looks up, eyes wide behind his glasses and dread clearly written all over his face.

Everyone watches. The room is abuzz with the news. Harry Potter is _gay_.

'Well,' says Blaise, awkwardly shifting his weight from foot to foot—Draco can practically _feel_ the nervous look the boy is giving him. 'It could've been worse.'

Draco's nails dig into his palm.

'I thought you said you _handled_ it?' Draco asks in a carefully controlled undertone, not looking away from Harry and the seventh year.

Blaise sighs. 'I said I _tried_ to handle it,' he says. 'Granger stopped me before I could really make my point.'

Of course. Granger, miss fucking goody two shoes, who is apparently too noble to hex the likes of Zacharias Smith, even if it means protecting her supposed best friend from being outed.

She sits next to Harry, worrying her lip with her teeth but doing absolutely _nothing_ to rescue him from the conversation he clearly doesn't want to be having.

Of course _Weasley_ is no where to be seen the useless fucking sod.

Draco takes a deep breath and tries to focus on not hexing everyone in sight.

'You know,' says Blaise. 'If I'd _known_ about the situation beforehand, I might've been able to do more to—'

Draco cuts a sharp glare across to him and Blaise promptly shuts his mouth.

He looks back at Gryffindor table just in time to see the tall, obnoxious seventh year give Harry a wide smile before turning and heading back down to his seat. Harry's shoulders slump with relief and Draco wonders how the hell they don't see how uncomfortable he is?

His fists clench and he closes his eyes, trying for the umpteenth time since yesterday afternoon to steady his temper. If he manages to get through the day without blowing something up it'll be a god damn miracle. And no, he's not _jealous_ , thank you very much, he's just…annoyed.

When he opens his eyes, there's _another_ boy talking to Harry. Draco growls.

'Maybe you should stop watching?' Blaise suggests unhelpfully.

'Maybe you should fuck off?'

'Well I would—after all those brownies smell amazing—but I'm a bit worried that if I leave you unsupervised you might murder someone.'

A spasm runs through Draco's wand hand, releasing the pressure from his palm for a moment as he contemplates reaching for his wand.

Harry ducks his head, scratching at the back of his neck in that way he does when he's nervous or self-conscious.

'Kissy, kissy, kissy!' someone calls, and a burst of laughter ripples around the hall.

Draco's head snaps around, gaze fixing on Smith as fury surges up his spine. He hadn't noticed the boy come in past them and this time he lets himself go for his wand.

'Easy Draco,' says Blaise in a low voice.

Granger lays a hand on Harry's arm, as if that's somehow helpful. 'Back off, Smith.'

Smith grins broadly. 'What's wrong, Potter? Cat got your tongue? Or is a boy?'

Draco takes a half step forward, unsure what he's going to do, only that he wants to cause Smith as much humiliation as he's causing Harry.

Harry pulls his arm free from Granger and stands up. Smith tenses, reaching for his wand but hesitating, his head turning toward the head table where the Professors are pretending not to watch.

Harry doesn't say a word, he simply shoves his hands in his pockets and heads toward the doors—where Draco and Blaise are still standing.

As Harry passes Smith, he catches sight of Draco, of the wand in Draco's hand. He gives a tiny, surreptitious shake of his head.

Draco frowns. He looks back toward Smith, who is watching Potter leave with a smug expression that Draco wants to slam into a wall. Except then Harry is passing him.

He's close. Not close enough to touch, not close enough for their shoulders to brush or their fingers to graze each other; but close enough to see the shame and weariness in his eyes, close enough for Draco to get a whiff of coffee and bacon and grass.

Then the smell is gone, and so is Harry. Without a word, without a glance, and Draco knows that if he hexes Smith right now things will only get so much worse for Harry.

So he doesn't. He takes a deep breath, grimaces at all the pink assaulting his eyes, and heads toward Slytherin table.

'You're not going to curse him?' asks Blaise, following along behind Draco like a faithful and irritating puppy, and sounding ridiculously pleased about the fact.

Draco rolls his eyes. 'No,' he says. Then he tilts his head in consideration. 'At least not yet.'

Four hours later, Draco's temper is ready to implode.

A storm brews outside, emulating Draco's worsening mood and sending a hush over the stone castle, turning every conversation into muted whispers that seem to trail around after him.

Except the whispers are following Harry, not Draco.

Three people try to ask him out. Two boys, and a girl who assures him she can change his mind. It's right after this last one that Harry vanishes. He disappears down a corridor after Charms class and isn't seen for the rest of the day.

Draco scowls at the empty hallway in front of him as he stomps toward Gryffindor tower, unsure yet what he's going to do when he gets there, but half tempted to blast his way through their portrait door and demand to know where the hell his idiot Gryffindor has gotten too. He's checked everywhere else. The library, the astronomy tower, all their secret nooks and alcoves, hell he's even checking in with Myrtle, but his wayward Gryffindor is nowhere to be found.

Somewhere outside thunder rumbles and Draco scowls out the next window into the pouring rain. He can just make out the blurry outline of the pitch in the distance and wishes that the rain would let up. At least then he could clear his head with a quick spin.

He sighs and stomps away, irritated at everything. Rumours, Harry, the rain. He stops, turning back to look out the window with a frown.

'Oh,' he mutters. 'He would _not_ be that idiotic.'

Except, Draco knows he would be. Bloody, stupid, headstrong, _idiotic_ Gryffindors.

He closes his eyes and groans, resigning himself to the fact that he's going to have to go out into the cold.

Ten minutes later he's trudging through the mud and the rain, feeling worse than miserable. Harry wasn't in the locker rooms, or in the stands, or even in the pitch.

Draco splashes mud everywhere as he heads toward the only other place he can think to look. Blue's enclosure.

The groundskeepers hut is lit up, with smoke billowing out to be smothered by the downpour, but Harry, of course, isn't sensible enough to at least take refuge there. No, he's sitting up against a tree, with some flimsy excuse of a rain shield up, twining Blue between his hands.

Draco scowls and stomps over toward them.

'You missed transfiguration,' he says, looking down at the drenched mop of brunette hair.

Harry, water dripping into his face, looks up. 'Oh,' he says, and smiles. 'Hey.'

Draco, recasting his rain shield so that it protects both of them, sits down against the tree on the damp grass beside them with a heavy sigh. Blue hisses something, and nudges Harry with her face.

Harry replies, already refocused on her over Draco, and Draco's already sour mood digs it's claws in deep. He obviously doesn't give a single damn that Draco has been traipsing around all afternoon looking for him.

'McGonagall was furious,' says Draco, exaggerating.

In truth, McGonagall had merely raised an eyebrow at Harry's absence, no doubt having heard the rumours already.

Harry sighs. 'I bet,' he says, blinking rain out of his eyes and staring up at Draco's shield. 'What's one more detention, hey?'

He lifts a hand, running it through the funnel of water flowing away from Draco's wand.

'Don't do that,' says Draco, and flicks Harry. 'Aren't you cold?'

Harry shrugs. 'A bit.'

Draco raises one eyebrow in perfected scepticism. He leans forward and presses the back of his hand to Harry's forehead. He scowls.

'You're freezing.'

'I'm fine.'

'Ha!'

'Look I just wanted to get away for a bit, okay? I'm _fine_.'

'Oh sure,' says Draco, irritation making his voice harsher than he intended. 'And tell me, what was your grand plan in _running away_? I thought you Gryffindor's stood up for yourselves?'

Harry rolls his eyes. 'Well what would you have me do, then?'

'Something other than run away! Merlin, chew them out for all I care, hex the bastards. Do _something_.'

Harry narrows his eyes at him. He sighs and runs a hand through his wet hair. 'Tell me you didn't.'

Draco looks away. 'I don't know what you mean.'

'Draco...'

'What? If that little twat didn't want to get hexed she shouldn't have tried to change who you are.'

Harry sighs. 'And what will people say if you're suddenly going around hexing people in my defence.'

'I'm not an idiot,' Draco says, insulted. 'It was time delayed. No one will know it was me.'

A small measure of satisfaction eases away at some of the irritation at the thought of that _girl_ being covered in painful, oozing pustules by days end. Bitch.

Harry rolls his eyes, shaking his head. 'You're hopeless.'

' _You're_ hopeless,' says Draco, poking him in the chest and ignoring the indignant hiss from Blue. 'Honestly, what were you thinking coming out here?'

Harry shrugs. 'I like the rain. There's something kind of amazing about storms. Besides, I wanted to check on Blue.'

Draco quirks one eyebrow. 'You are _so_ weird.'

Harry grins lopsidedly. 'Hey, you're out here too.'

'Yes,' says Draco. 'Looking for you. And I at least had the good sense to cast a rain shield.'

'I cast a shield.'

'I'm sorry, a halfway _decent_ shield.'

Harry rolls his eyes again and looks away. 'If you're just going to berate me, you might as well go back to the castle. I'm not in the mood.'

'Fine,' scowls Draco and stands back up. 'Be a prick.'

'Jesus, Draco. I just got fucking outed to the entire god damn school, can't you just give me a break?'

'No! No I can't. Because that's what everyone else does!'

Harry pushes up to his feet, Blue coiling around his shoulders. 'What the hell is your problem? What did I _do_?'

'You know,' says Draco, turning around to face him. 'You think you're so heroic and so self-sacrificing but you're really just selfish!'

'I… _selfish_?' Harry sputters. 'Are you fucking kidding me?'

'You _always_ do this. Making people run around after you. It's childish and it's stupid. You don't consider anyone else, you just do things because you're _you_ and oh well, everyone else can just fucking deal with it, right? Like taking all the food on the trolley cart, like there's no one else on the damn train who wants to fucking eat. Like getting onto the quidditch team a year early because whoopy-do you're Harry fucking Potter. Like running off to the department of mysteries instead of _going to a teacher_ and _getting help_. And you don't even _see_ it! You don't even see how your actions affect other people!'

Hary gapes at him. 'What…I…what the fuck are you talking about?'

'You disappeared!' Draco yells. 'You just took off, without telling anyone, without telling _me_! I've been looking for you for hours and you, you just… _ugh!'_

Draco stabs his wand at the ground and a chunk of grass and mud explodes. He's so angry he's shaking, his chest heaving with every breath, and he's itching for a fight. He's waiting for Harry to pull his wand out, to retaliate, but—for some reason—Harry deflates, all the anger washing away under the downpour of rain.

Draco's shield is gone. He doesn't remember when he'd cancelled it, but they're both drenched already. Harry swipes water out of his face and stares at Draco.

'You were worried,' he says. It's a statement, not a question, albeit there's surprise lacing his voice. 'You were worried about me.'

'Of course I was fucking worried about you!' Draco shouts—although, the notion only occurs to him as Harry says it.

After everything that's happened in the last week: agreeing to commit to this relationship, making the deal with Dumbledore, trying to find a way out of his mission and how to deal with his dorm mates questions, stupid Weasley and bloody _Smith_ …there are more emotions roiling through him than he's prepared to deal with and the tension and anxiety boils along Draco's skin.

Harry steps toward him, a slow smile working onto his stupid face. Draco looks away.

'Don't,' he all but growls. 'I'm not in the mood.'

He does anyway. Prat. He steps forward again, leans in, and presses a soft kiss to Draco's cheek.

'Will you sit with me for a bit?' he asks, ducking his head to try and catch Draco's gaze. 'Please?'

He considers saying no. He's still agitated. Still wants to fight. But there's a small (growing) part of him that is also relieved that Harry is _here_ and he's okay.

He rolls his eyes and stomps over to the tree, flicking the shield charm back up by way of answer. Harry settles back down on the ground beside him, leaning into Draco with his shoulder.

'I'm sorry I made you worry,' he says softly. 'I didn't think.'

Draco snorts. 'You never do.'

'I mean, I didn't think you'd worry.'

Draco glances across at him. He shrugs. 'I don't think I did, either. At least…not like this. And I wasn't worried, at first. But then I couldn't find you and I guess…'

'You thought something had happened?'

Draco clenches his jaw and thinks of his mission. He thinks of Theo and what almost happened with the necklace. 'Hogwarts isn't always as safe as you think it is.'

Harry sighs. 'I know,' he says. 'But it's home.'

Draco glances sideways at him. 'Home?' he asks, one eyebrow raised.

Harry shrugs sheepishly. 'I mean sort of. For me. Not all of us can have giant mansions you know.'

'You realise you probably have your own giant mansion?'

Harry straightens up, levelling Draco with a dubious look. 'Um, I doubt that.'

'The Potter estate has to have at least one family home in it, aside from Godric's Hollow of course,' says Draco. 'And I know for a _fact_ that the Black estate has several houses, some of considerable size—after all, that was supposed to be mine.'

'It was? Oh your Mum was a black, wasn't she? So that means…oh. Er. Sorry about that.' He flushes, and rubs the back of his neck.

Draco merely raises an eyebrow. 'Honestly, do you even know the value of your assets?'

'Er…'

Draco shakes his head. 'Well,' he says. 'We'll have to fix that.'

'Er…'

'Relax, I don't mean right now,' he says, shaking his head. 'But soon. We can't have you thinking that Hogwarts is an adequate home. There has to be _something_ more appropriate among your titles. At the very least you should have enough money to buy something.'

'You…want me to buy a house...?'

'Or a dwelling of some sort,' says Draco.

'Er, right.'

Draco stares at him. 'You _have_ thought about where you're going to live after school, haven't you?'

Harry blinks. 'I'm afraid if I answer, you'll hit me,' he stares out at the rain, a contemplative frown on his face. 'I suppose I could sell Grimmauld Place and get a flat or something.'

'A flat?' asks Draco, and wrinkles his nose.

Harry shoots him a sly smile. 'Too small?'

'Well,' says Draco, and sniffs imperiously. 'That depends.'

'On what?'

'On whether or not you have a kitchen separate to your lounge area. And of course you'll want a guess room. And a dinning room—I _assume_ you'll want your insipid little friends to visit.'

'See, you start off sounding reasonable, and then you just turn into a git,' says Harry, though he's smiling. 'Okay, what else do I need?'

'Well that depends on what you decide to do. You might need a study, or an entertaining area, or—'

'A pool,' says Harry suddenly. 'I've always wanted a pool. Or maybe a spa.'

'A spa?' asks Draco.

He vaguely recognises the term, but is unsure what it is.

'Yeah, and a nice backyard. With a dog.'

'A dog?'

'Yeah, and a big enclosure for Hedwig, so she's not so cramped up all the time. Oh and probably one for Blue, too. Something nice. Maybe her own room or something? And you'll probably need a potions study or something…' Harry trails off, going rigid, his cheeks flushing pink as he quickly looks away.

Draco swallows. He looks down at his hands, heat flooding up his neck.

Harry fidgets beside him. 'Sorry, I—'

'A crup,' says Draco, cutting Harry off.

'Er, what?'

'Instead of a dog,' says Draco. 'A crup.'

Harry blinks. 'Oh,' he says, and the pink in his cheeks intensifies. He offers Draco a small, shy smile. 'Okay.'

Draco nods, and leans back against the tree, determined to at least look unperturbed. After all, he doesn't need Harry's instinct to flee kicking in again.

'This is weird, isn't it?' Harry eventually says.

'Sitting outside in the middle of a storm? Yes, yes it is weird,' says Draco. 'But that's rather par for the course with you isn't it?'

Harry flicks him. 'You know what I mean.'

'Oh, you mean the fact that you basically just asked me to move in with you?'

Harry sputters, 'I didn't—I don't—'

Draco shoots him a sly grin and Harry glares at him—though there's none of the old antagonism there.

'It's weird,' he agrees after moment, in a voice that is almost drowned out by the rain. 'But it's also not weird.'

Harry smiles down at the grass. 'Yeah. Twelve months ago I'd have given anything not to put up with you and now…'

'Now you can't survive without the oxygen I breathe?'

Harry laughs. There's something so easy and warm in it—though Draco's words are obnoxious and not at all funny—and Draco relishes in the sound. The laughter that is his, that someone as pure and good as Harry has given him.

Draco blinks, and shakes his head. Mother of Merlin he was becoming a complete and utter sap.

'Something like that,' Harry chuckles.

'Where's Blue?' asks Draco.

Harry glances up, blinking in confusion. He raises one of his arms, weighing it slightly. 'Down my sleeve I think. Why?'

'Because,' says Draco, grabbing the front of Harry's robes and pulling him closer. 'I want to kiss you, but I don't really fancy being bitten. At least not by her.'

Red swarms up Harry's neck and cheeks, but he grins. 'Right,' he says. 'Uh, I can put her away?'

'Just tell her we need some privacy or something.'

A flurry of whispering hisses are exchanged, the strange, hushed language slithering over Draco's ears and making him shiver. He sees a flash of Blue's tail as she slides out of Harry's sleeve, and doesn't waste another moment.

He pulls Harry closer and kisses him soundly. He feels Harry grin against his lips, and the pent up worry and frustration and anger culminates into a want so fierce, that Draco is pushing Harry down into the grass, desperate to be closer to him.

Winter, Draco decides, is maybe not as bad as he originally thought. Not with Harry pressed up against him, smothering the cold with a burst of delicious heat. He is fire incarnate. He radiates warmth, sending pulses of heat flooding along Draco's veins, melting him from the inside out. Draco can't get enough.

He slides his fingers through Harry's perpetually unruly hair, pulling slightly as Harry bites down on Draco's collarbone. He stifles a groan drops his head forward, pressing his face into Harry's hair.

He drops kisses along Harry's jaw, nibbles on his ear, sucks softly on a patch of skin that he now knows is particularly sensitive.

Harry groans and Draco almost drowns in the sound. He presses closer, but Harry shifts suddenly, rolling them sideways so that he's the one in control. Draco doesn't care. Not when Harry's leaning back down spread fire along his skin.

He slides a hand up the back of Harry's shirt, fingers tracing the thin revs of raised skin that he's grown to know so well. They're a map of chaos across Harry's back, but also a reminder of everything that's changed between. Draco feels his pulse jolt through each of his own scars as he drags his fingers along Harry's back.

'God,' Harry murmurs into Draco's hair, and Draco does it again, wanting to hear that whisper of pleasure and know that it was him who caused it.

He traces the scars back down Harry's back and settles his hands on Harry's hips, pulling him closer.

Harry shifts slightly, biting Draco's lower lip. It's a subtle shift, but it's enough, putting the smallest amount of space back between them.

Draco almost whines in frustration.

Harry slips a hand up his shirt, nails catching along the healed claw marks there, and Draco momentarily forgets his frustration.

Scars adorn them both. Just a few months ago, touching those scars himself brought back memories of pain and terror. Now, though? Now he has new memories. Memories that fill him with fire and wanting, and he relishes in each new touch, each new sensation drowning out all the past.

He rolls them back over, pressing into Harry, wanting to be as close as possible, desperation tugging at his insides, and he's pulling Harry's shirt up, slipping a hand down and—

'Wait,' Harry gasps, eyes wide and panicked. 'Wait, stop, just…stop.'

Draco freezes in place, unsure what's happened. 'What's wrong?'

Harry stares at him, panting somewhat, his lips swollen, but his eyes still with that shakey panic. 'Um. I just, I er…I…I think we should slow down.'

Draco frowns. 'Oh.'

He leans up on his elbows, shifting so he's not quite on top of Harry anymore and the minute he does Harry shuffles backwards, pushing himself up into a sitting position and away from Draco. Confused, and a little hurt, Draco follows suit.

'I…okay,' he says, trying not to let his feelings show in his voice. 'Sorry, I…I didn't mean to…' he trails off, not exactly sure what he's done wrong.

He'd thought it was good. He was certainly enjoying himself, and it was clear that Harry was just as aroused, so why…?

'You didn't do anything wrong,' says Harry, flushing pink and looking away. 'I uh…I just…I don't…'

Draco shakes his head a little, waiting for Harry to continue. 'You don't what?'

Harry frowns and ducks his head. He mumbles something Draco doesn't hear over the rain.

'Pardon?'

Harry sighs, shifting uncomfortably. He runs a hand through his hair and shuffles around so that he's leaning back against the tree.

'I don't do that,' he says in a low voice.

All the remaining arousal drain away from Draco in his confusion. 'Don't do what?'

Harry's shoulders turn inward. 'I don't, um, I've never…god this is humiliating.' He drops his face into his hands and blurts. 'I don't wank.'

Draco blinks. 'You don't…' he trails off. Oh. 'Wait, you've never…?'

'No,' says Harry, his voice muffled by his hands. 'Not really. I've tried a few times but I've never…finished.'

Bewildered, Draco can't think of anything else to say except, 'why? Don't you want to?'

After all, he doesn't know _anyone_ that doesn't take care of things on a regular basis. He can't even fathom never taking matters in hand, as it were.

Harry shrugs. 'I don't know. Maybe? I guess.'

'But…you get erections,' says Draco, still confused. 'I _know_ you do. It's not like you're not aroused.'

Red stains Harry's ears and he all but buries himself in his hands. 'God I can't believe we're talking about this.'

'I can't believe you don't want,' says Draco, not unkindly, just…confused. 'Why?'

'I…I don't really want to talk about it,' he says in a quiet voice.

Something occurs to Draco. Something that washes any ounce of arousal and warmth from his body.

'Harry,' he says, in a low voice. 'Were you…did someone…'

Harry glances up, frowning. 'What—oh, _oh_ , no. God no! No, no one ever did anything. It's just…my aunt…she uh, well she caught me. When I was nine or ten, I was in the bath and she came to make sure I was out but I was, er, wan-wanking.'

His face is bright red, and he stares fixedly at his hands as he talks, his whole body a lesson in being uncomfortable.

'She started yelling at me, calling me names. Pervert…and stuff. She said if she ever caught me doing it again she'd throw me out. So I didn't. Anyway. It's not a big deal. I just…I don't really know how to…I mean I've tried but when I do I just kinda, freak out I guess. Jesus you must think I'm such a freak.' He buries his face back in his hands.

For a moment, Draco can't move. He doesn't know what to do. He simultaneously wants to hug Harry, and hunt down his aunt and murder her in her sleep.

He takes a deep breath.

'Can I touch you?'

Harry glances up, green eyes peeking up over his hands behind his glasses. He nods.

Without hesitation Draco surges forward and wraps Harry in a tight hug, squeezing until the tension goes out of Harry's shoulders.

'I'm sorry,' murmurs Draco. 'If I'd known I'd have never have tried to—'

'It's okay,' says Harry. 'I'm sorry too. I didn't mean to overreact.'

Draco tightens his hold. 'Merlin, Harry you didn't overreact. You don't ever have to do anything you don't want to. I was just confused. I thought you were enjoying it. If I'd realised—'

'I was,' Harry says hurriedly, cutting him off. 'I was enjoying it. I've been thinking about it a lot lately, and I thought I could handle it but…I guess not.'

He turns his face into Draco's arm, his shoulders tensing again.

Draco is quiet a moment. He doesn't want to say anything that'll make it worse but this is a situation he's not prepared for. Handjobs and blowjobs, sure, he's thought about _those_ plenty. But this?

'Tell me what you need,' says Draco, unsure what else to offer.

'Just…if we could, take it easy for a bit? Just while I…try not to panic. I feel so stupid.'

'You're not stupid.'

'I am. It feels like I panic about _everything_ lately. This is supposed to feel good. Bloody hell I _want_ to keep going. I just…don't know how.'

'Well,' says Draco slowly. 'I mean, I could help. If you want.'

Harry looks across at him, embarrassment still clear across his face. 'How?'

Draco shrugs. 'However you want,' he says. 'However you need me to.'

Harry stares across at the rain for a long moment.

'Okay,' he says.

'Okay?' asks Draco.

Harry nods. 'Yeah,' he glances sideways, before refocusing on the storm. 'I…I want to be normal. With…with you.'

His face flushes red, and Draco can't help but grin. He bumps Harry's shoulder with his own. 'Me too.'

The blush spreads across Harry's cheeks, and Draco leans over to press a soft kiss against his warm cheek.

'Whenever you're ready,' says Draco. 'I'm here.'

Harry nods. 'Alright,' he says in a slow, hesitant voice. 'But…do you think we could maybe just sit for today?'

Draco grins. He settles back against the tree, slipping an arm around Harry's shoulder and tilting his head back against the tree.

'Sure,' he says, and closes his eyes. 'Whatever you need, Harry.'

* * *

 _ **CHAPTER SUMMARY:**_

Draco tries to deal with his frustration at Zach Smith for outing Harry, and the resulting interest from both boys and girls.

Harry disappears for the day to escape the whispers and stares. Worried, Draco goes looking for him, only for his worries and frustrations to come out as anger. They fight, they reconcile, and Draco learns of an embarrassing moment from Harry's past that puts a pause on things moving beyond just kissing.


	46. Stranger Things

**A/N:** Hey guys, sorry about the wait, I was struggling to decide which order the next three chapters go in. Also, I redid the last couple of paragraphs on chapter 45 a few days after I originally posted it. If you've read it in the last few days you should be fine, but if you read it when I first posted you might want to have a quick looksie. As always, I hope you enjoy.

The next chapter should be out super quick too, I'm just finishing it off now.

* * *

Chapter Forty-Six

 _Stranger Things_

 ** _Remus:_**

Voices clamour for the attention of Rosmerta, despite that it's a weekday and there are no students to crowd the tables of the Three Broomsticks. Remus pushes his way through the small and yet exuberant crowd with reluctance, heading toward the side booth that the others have already claimed.

Mad-Eye's magical eye swivels in it's socket, racing around the room and seeing god knows what, until it latches on Remus himself. Mad-Eye scowls, gesturing with his head for Remus to hurry up.

Remus sighs and tries to pick up his dragging feet.

He knows he's late. He knows that Mad-Eye is going to chew him out for being late.

Still, he can't quite muster up any enthusiasm for this meeting. Especially when he sees that there is only one seat remaining.

He hesitates for just a moment, but a moment is long enough.

'Well, are you going to sit down or do you plan to make us wait all day?' Mad-Eye barks.

Remus winces. 'Yes, sorry,' he says, and takes the remaining seat, glancing sideways to his left. 'Hi,' he offers, with a tight lipped smile.

'Hi,' Dora says, her gaze sliding over him and back to Mad-Eye.

Misery claws at Remus' insides, reminiscent of the beast that overcomes him every full moon. He attempts to squash it but judging from the knowing look that crosses Kingsley's face he doubts that he's succeeded.

'Right,' says Mad-Eye gruffly, gaze swivelling around to latch onto Dora. 'Let's get this underway. Tonks, update?'

'School is secure, sir,' says Tonks with an easy smile.

Remus envies her her easy going nature. Wishing that he too could see the hope in the world as she does. He stares at his hands, his shoulders turning inward.

'No incidents?'

'Hm, there was a student poking around after visiting hours the other weekend,' she says, tilting her head, her gaze flicking up to the ceiling as it does when she's pretending to think about something important. 'But he scurried off fairly quickly when I approached.'

Mad-Eye rolls his eyes. 'Not quite sure that counts as an incident, Tonks.'

Dora grins. 'What, candy thieves don't interest you? First step candy-napping, second step world domination.'

Mad-Eye levels her with a glare and Tonks sits back, raising her hands in mock surrender. 'Alright, alright. No, no incidents to report Sir.'

'Shacklebolt?'

'Security is intact. No damage to any of the wards that I can see,' says Kingsley in that stoic manner of is.

'Lupin?' Mad-Eye all but barks.

Remus looks up from his hands. 'Forest is quiet. No news from Hagrid or the Centaurs.'

'Not even on alliances?'

Remus sighs. 'No, not even on alliances,' says Remus. 'The centaurs won't commit. They're adamant this war won't affect them.'

Mad-Eye snorts. 'They'll change their tune pretty fast when You Know Who slaughters half their herd.'

'Is that all the news from the castle?' asks Kingsley, turning that dark, calculating gaze onto Remus.

Remus frowns. Before he can answer, Rosmerta places four steaming mugs of butterbeer in front of them. Remus takes his with a sigh of relief, feeling the warmth from the mug spread through his fingers the moment he takes it.

'Is there something I missed?' asks Remus, and takes a sip of his drink.

Quick as lightning, Kingsley's gaze flicks to Tonks and back again. 'No,' says Kingsley. 'I thought perhaps Potter might've had something to say.'

Remus frowns. 'About what?'

Tonks snorts. Again, there's that quick, lightning flash look that passes between her and Kingsley.

'Something you two want to share with the class?' Mad-Eye asks, voice irritated, spinning eye bouncing back and forth between the pair so fast it makes Remus momentarily dizzy.

'Nope,' says Tonks.

She offers them a bright—if somewhat forced smile—and takes a large swig of her drink.

Kingsley arches an eyebrow at her, the smallest of smirks on his face, and follows her lead. Mad-Eye eyes them both for a moment longer, brows furrowed in distrust.

'Well keep your eyes peeled,' he says. 'Good news is we seem to have turned over another of _his_ followers.'

Remus tears his gaze away from Dora and Kingsley to stare at Mad-Eye. 'Really?' he asks, genuinely surprised. 'Who?'

Mad-Eye shakes his head. 'Albus won't say,' he says with a scowl. 'Apparently our mission is less important than the identity of this would be traitor—'

Before Mad-Eye has a chance to get started on the predictable tirade on constant vigilance and the benefits of transparency in an uprising, Kingsley and Tonks both look at each other and—at the same time—say,

'Ten!'

'Twenty-five.'

Tonks curses. 'Damnit!'

Kingsley chuckles. 'You need to be faster than that, Nymphie'

Tonks pulls out her wand and points at him. 'Call me that again, I dare you.'

'What in the name of Magic are you two knuckleheads talking about?' Mad-Eye scowls.

'Oh, nothing important. Just a little bet we have going,' says Kingsley with a smile. 'Hope your paying Tonks well, Alastair. She owes me quite the hefty little fee.'

Tonks snorts. 'Oh we'll see about that,' she says, sitting back in her chair and crossing her arms. 'You really think you've won?'

'Remus,' says Kingsley, not looking away from Dora. 'You taught at Hogwarts. Settle an argument for us. The Slytherins, they're a fairly… _family_ oriented group, are they not?'

Remus blinks, frowning in confusion. 'If you mean do they follow their parents lead, yes, in most cases they seem to be.'

Kingsley nods, dipping his head. 'And, do you think there is any way one of them could be swayed to our side, swayed into _abandoning_ their family values due to a simple crush?'

'Simple? _Simple_? Oh please, there is absolutely nothing simple about this, and you know it.'

'It's not him,' says Kingsley simply.

'It is totally him,' Tonks objects, slamming her hand down on the table. 'I know what I saw, Kingsley! I'm telling you they're as good as together.'

'I'm not disputing that,' says Kingsley. 'I'm simply pointing out that a pureblood as indoctrinated as he is would not simply _change sides_ due to a high school romance.'

'Then you're an idiot,' says Tonks matter of factly.

Kingsley tilts his head. 'Fine,' he says. 'If you're so sure, let's make it a hundred.'

Tonks narrows her eyes. 'Done,' she says.

Kingsley merely blinks. He raises his mug, and they clink them together, sealing whatever strange deal they've made as sure as any handshake.

Mad-Eye is still scowling, but there's an edge of contemplation to his gaze as he stares at his two Aurors. 'You both think you know who the turncoat is,' he says.

'Pure speculation,' says Kingsley, turning his unperturbed gaze to Mad-Eye.

'You're not going to tell me either, are you?'

Kingsley smiles.

Tonks chews on the inside of her mouth. She lifts her shoulder in a half shrug and she says apologetically, 'Albus has a point about this one. It's a…delicate situation.'

Kingsley smirks. 'Love always is,' he murmurs into his butterbeer.

Tonks doesn't hear him, but Remus' superior wolf hearing does, and he suspects, by the way Kingsley's gaze flicks over to him, that Kingsley knows this.

'Well then,' says Mad-Eye. 'If you're quite finished, we shouldn't linger any longer. Don't want to draw any unwanted attention.'

Tonks rolls her eyes. 'Merlin Moody, relax, would you? What's a few Auror's relaxing after a shift?'

Mad-Eye simply raises an eyebrow. 'You're shift isn't over yet, Auror Tonks.'

Tonks waves him off. 'On break, then.'

Mad-Eye rolls his eye. 'Contact me immediately if you notice anything,' he says, and pushes up from the table. 'Shacklebolt, I'm sure you have work to do.'

Kingsley smiles. 'Of course,' he stands up, nodding to Tonks and then Remus before disappearing into the crowd after Mad-Eye.

Remus shifts awkwardly in his seat. 'So,' he says uncomfortably. 'You think the new ally is a student?'

Dora glances across at him, her expression guarded. 'What makes you say that?'

Remus blinks, glances away, debates staying back with her. She's been avoiding him, and he doesn't blame her. Still, being in her presence, smelling that sweet scent of peanut butter, toffee and peppermint tea, he can't help but want to linger. To relish this small moment with her just a bit longer—though every fibre of his being knows that he shouldn't.

'Kingsley asked me about the Slytherins,' says Remus, shrugging with his hands. 'He made it sound like there was a romance involved.'

She tilts her head, and then shrugs. 'It's just a theory,' she says.

'You really think one of them might switch sides over a crush?' he asks. 'Crushes can be fickle.'

He realises, a moment too late, that he's said the wrong thing. Her expression closes off and her hair, which had been a bright, bubblegum pink, darkens into a deep red.

'Didn't your best friend marry his high school crush?' she asks, eyebrow arched.

For a moment, her eyes shift colour and she looks disturbingly like Lily. The look rattles him, and he looks away quickly, staring into his butterbeer as a dozen old memories try to surface all at once.

He shoves them down, burying the memories of Lily telling them off, laughing at something James said, cooing at a newborn Harry. He swallows.

'Yeah,' he says in a quiet voice. 'You're right.' He clears his throat and glances up at her again. 'So, from your conversation it sounded like you've suspected this for a while?'

'A few months,' she says. 'Actually, I'm surprised you don't know anything about it. I would have thought—'

Remus frowns. 'You would have thought what?'

She shrugs again, keeping her gaze pointedly away from him. 'Hmm, just that perhaps Dumbledore might've mentioned something to you. He's always so fond of you Gryffindor's after all.'

Remus narrows his gaze at her. 'Why would I know about any teenage romances at Hogwarts?' The moment he says it, realisation slams into him. 'Wait, Harry? You think _Harry_ is involved with someone in Slytherin?'

Tonks blinks. 'Hm, so you can be smart,' she says, her voice dry and mocking.

Remus ignores the dig. 'How do you know this? Did he…did he say something to you?'

She tilts her head, a sly smiling twitching at her lips. 'In a manner of speaking.'

'I…Why would he come to _you_ about this?' Remus asks incredulously.

She raises her eyebrows at him. 'What, I'm not good enough or something?'

'What? No, of course you are. I'm just…why wouldn't he come to me if he needed someone to talk to?'

Dora grins, looking him dead on for the first time since he got there. 'He can't come to you,' she laughs, as if this should be obvious.

'Why not?' asks Remus, affronted.

'Because, you were his _teacher_ ,' she points out patiently.

'So?'

'So, no teenage boy in his right mind is going to talk to his teacher about a crush.'

'Well…I guess. But I'm not his teacher anymore.'

'That doesn't matter,' she says. 'Look, you've said it yourself before. Harry hasn't had much luck when it comes to adults, right?'

'Well no,' he says. 'But that's why I was surprised. I didn't realise you two were that close.'

'We're not,' she says. 'Not really. But you forget, I've spent a decent chunk of the last year basically stalking him.'

'Stalking?'

'Pretty much,' she shrugs. 'Besides, it's my job to notice these things.'

'It's your job to notice when teenagers at Hogwarts develop crushes on each other?'

'It is when they involve "the saviour",' she says. 'By the way, if you call him that to his face there's a fifty-fifty chance you'll get hexed.'

Remus raises his eyebrows. 'Yeah, he's not so fond of the title.'

Dora grins, her hair shifting to a pastel blue, her eyes changing to match and Remus's heart kicks up a notch. He looks away, swallowing and trying to regain his composure.

'So,' he says, clearing his throat. 'What makes you think Harry is involved with a Slytherin?'

Dora seems to consider the question for far longer than Remus thinks is necessary.

'Well,' she says. 'There was this whole thing with Scriminger.'

'You mean at Christmas?' asks Remus. 'What's that got to do with any Slytherins?'

'Scriminger asked for his support.'

'I heard.'

'And he said no.'

'I heard that too.'

'So Scriminger accused him of being Dumbledore's man.'

Remus rolls his eyes. 'Of course he did.'

'And he said no,' says Dora.

'Well of course he—wait what?' Remus stares at her.

Dora's eyes change colour again, this time looking rather like Dumbledore's when he's up to something. 'He said no,' she says again, slower.

Remus sits back, flabbergasted. 'He said he wasn't Dumbledore's man.'

She nods.

'Well, okay, but I still don't see how that leads you to think that he's in a relationship with a Slytherin girl.'

Dora grins at him and shakes her head. 'Ah, Remus,' she's says. 'Remus, Remus, Remus. Maybe you're older than me, maybe you're more experienced, and yet, you still have so much to learn.'

Remus purses his lips. It's another dig. Another way of her disputing his reasons for not starting a relationship with her. He sighs, and looks away. 'If Harry is dating someone questionable, I have a right to know.'

'Why?' she asks.

Remus frowns. She's challenging him, but what over, he's not entirely sure. 'He's my best friend's son. And my other best friend's god son.'

Dora shrugs. 'Maybe,' she says. 'But it's not like you're his legal guardian.'

'Well, I—'

'I mean you probably could be,' she says. 'If you wanted to.'

Remus shifts in his seat, gripping his mug a little too tightly, unsure how they got off on this tangent. 'I'm not exactly fit for—'

She sighs, turning her gaze away from him, staring off across the crowd and cutting him off as effectively as yelling at him.

He drops his gaze to his half drunken butterbeer, now cold, and contemplates going. Yet, sitting here with her is too irresistible to pass up. Even with her angry at him, there's a pleasant sort of comfort in her company.

'Alright,' he says slowly. 'Harry told Scriminger that he's not Dumbledore's man. What does that mean?'

'It means his perspective has changed,' says Dora, still frowning across the bar. 'He was definitely Dumbledore's man before. Something has changed. Or some _one_ has changed his mind.'

Remus frowns, trying to think of anything in his conversations with Harry that might indicate a problem. 'And you think that someone is a girl he likes?'

Dora grins. 'Sure,' she says, taking a sip of her drink and eyeing him over the dwindling froth. She licks her lips, smirking at him with her eyes, 'I think it's someone he likes.'

'But…a Slytherin? Harry doesn't really spend any time with them, does he?'

Again there's that amused little smile at the corners of Dora's mouth, as if she's enjoying his confusion. 'I can think of one Slytherin he's spending plenty of time with.'

He stares at her, frowning. Then, like a lightbulb going off, he gapes at her.

'No,' he says. ' _No_. There's absolutely no way.'

She raises her eyebrows. 'Why not?'

'They hate each other, for starters,' says Remus. 'And there's the fact that he's a _boy_.'

Dora rolls her eyes. 'Okay, once again, didn't one of your best friends marry a girl who hated his guts through most of school? And secondly,' she whacks him upside the head. 'Don't be an arse!'

'Hey! I'm not being an arse, I just…Harry likes _girls_.'

'Oh he's told you that, has he?'

Remus has the decency to flush. 'Well, no, but—'

'I suppose, being so close to him as you are, you know all about his interests. The type of people he's dated in the past.'

'Well I—'

'And of course you'd be the _first_ person he'd talk to about issues like this.'

He sighs. 'Dora,' he says, and sighs again. 'Okay, no. We don't talk about this stuff. But even if he _does_ like boys, I just can't believe that you think he's even remotely interested in Draco Malfoy.'

'Love is strange,' she says, smiling off into the distance.

Deep inside him, the wolf whines it's agreement. Though the full moon is still weeks away, the wolf tugs him toward Dora. He can feel it's pull, her easy nature quelling the fury of the beast, making him want to curl up beside her by a warm fire.

'You really think…' he trails off and frowns at his hands, at the faint scars there. 'You really think Harry would put aside all their differences? All of Malfoy's flaws? You've met him, right? He's not exactly easy to get along with.'

He feels Dora shrug, her shoulders brushing by his.

'Honestly?' she says. 'I thought they'd be together by Christmas.'

He jerks, turning to stare at her. 'Christmas? I thought…wait, how long have you suspected this.'

'Since the Zoo trip,' she says, smiling. 'They were flirting something fierce. But, when Christmas came around, it was obvious they were still dancing around each other.' She sighs heavily. 'Stupid Kingsley.'

'Why didn't you tell me about any of this?' asks Remus, a little hurt that she hadn't confided in him.

She shrugs, glancing sideways at him and then away again. 'Well, I didn't know for _sure_. Besides, I wouldn't be doing my job if I went around spouting all the secrets I knew.'

Remus frowns. 'You told Kingsley,' he points out.

'Of course I told Kinglsey. Malfoy's father and aunt are both Death Eaters. The only reason I'm telling you now is because I know Harry means a lot to you, and, well if I'm right, he's going to need all the support he can get.'

'You believe it that much?'

'You know what he asked me?' Dora says, crossing her arms and looking at Remus as if he's a fool for doubting her instinct. 'If people who have done bad things can change. He's worried about hurting people on the other side. And now this new secret ally of Dumbledore's? It all fits.' She shrugs. 'Look, believe me or don't. I'm just forewarning you so you don't act like an idiot when he eventually tells you.'

'Harry and Malfoy,' he says contemplating.

'Yep' says Dora, lifting her mug and tilting it at him, before raising it to her lips and downing the rest of her drink.

She licks the foam from her lips, drops the mug to the table and pushes up to her feet. Without thinking, he slides out of the booth to let her pass. Once again that strange mix of peanut butter, toffee and peppermint tea hits him, and he's momentarily distracted.

She pauses, giving him a significant look, like she can see right through all his denials and protests and read him right down to his soul. He swallows, lowering his gaze.

She sighs and turns away, but just before she leaves she turns back and says, 'You know, it's kind of funny. Potter and Malfoy…they're almost like opposites. Funny what can happen when two people put aside their differences, isn't it?'

'Er, yeah, I…I guess so,' he says, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

Someone bumps into Remus, jostling him sideways, and by the time he looks back up, Dora is gone. He looks for her flash of bright hair, but, as usual, she's blended seamlessly into the crowd.

For a brief moment, he contemplates following that familiar scent. The wolf is buried deep, but he's sure he could do it. Even without the moon's presence, his sense of smell has always been superior than others.

He sighs, and drops back down into his seat instead.

Harry and Malfoy.

'Well,' he mutters to himself. 'Stranger things have happened.'

Though, at that moment, he can't think of a single one.


	47. Know How

Chapter Forty-Seven

 _Know How_

 ** _Greg:_**

Draco yanks open the bed covers, kneels up on the end of his bed and glares across at Blaise imperiously. 'Zabini,' he says, his voice surprisingly matter of fact despite the irritated look on his face. 'Do you know as much about sex as you claim you do or is this all show?'

Blaise—who has just spent the last ten minutes making none-too-subtle insinuations about Draco's personal life—smirks. 'Oh, sorry Draco, didn't realise you were here,' he says. 'You've been so absent lately I thought you were off on another of your dalliances.'

Greg snorts. Draco shoots him a glare and Greg promptly refocuses on the bag of marshmallows he's steadily working through.

Blaise has a point. Draco is hardly ever in the dorms or common room anymore. Despite the fact that Draco is the complete opposite of a morning person, he's gone before any of the others are even up. He sneaks in late, slipping in after curfew without a word to any of them. In fact, this is the first time Greg has seen him outside of class in days.

'So,' says Draco, settling into a cross-legged position, 'you're just all talk then?'

Blaise blinks, apparently confused by Draco's lack of reaction to all his teasing. 'No,' he says, raising an eyebrow. 'I'm not all talk.'

'Oh really?' Draco asks disbelievingly, narrowing his eyes, 'So then, you must get a lot of action?'

'Well, sure,' says Blaise with an easy smile, shrugging as if he doesn't spend most of his time these days lounging around the common room.

Greg shakes his head.

'Like what?' asks Draco.

'What do you mean? "Like what"?' asks Blaise.

'Like,' says Draco, as if explaining something to a small child. 'What kind of action? Are you a Chaser or a Seeker? Do you bother with quaffle at all or are you all about catching the snitch?'

'I—well, what the hell kind of question is that?' says Blaise.

Greg raises his eyebrows. He didn't think it was possible to embarrass Blaise. As far as Greg has seen, Blaise does not ruffle easily (and not for lack of trying on their housemates part).

'I think it's fairly self explanatory,' says Draco imperiously. 'I thought you _knew_ about these things?'

Blaise scoffs, but struggles to actually come up with an answer. 'I don't have to go into the intimate details of my sex life, Malfoy.'

Draco tilts his head, eyeing Blaise appraisingly. 'And yet you seem so interested in everyone else's.' Draco rolls his eyes, scoffing. 'Hypocrite.'

Blaise flushes. 'I've…caught the snitch,' he admits begrudgingly. 'Why, do you need a demonstration?'

Draco smirks. 'I think I'm covered.'

Blaise rolls his eyes and snorts. 'Yeah, sure you are.' He shakes his head, leaning over to his bedside table to snatch a book up.

Draco leans forward, watching him with narrowed eyes. 'So, what, that's it then? That's as far as your knowledge goes?'

Blaise glances up. 'What?'

'Just sex?'

'Merlin what is this, an interrogation? I don't have to answer that.'

A frown flashes across Draco's face, and Greg detects a hint of disappointment in the downward twitch of his lips. 'Hm. Guess you're just a seeker then.'

Blaise glowers. 'That's none of your fucking business.'

'Daphne's a classy lady,' says Theo, surprising them all, but not bothering to look up from the essay he's working on. 'She wouldn't approve of kissing and telling.'

Vince chuckles. He's sitting against the headboard of his bed, flicking through a limited edition of _Unrobed_ that he's somehow managed to slip passed Snape. Greg suspects the only reason the conversation has managed to grab Vince's attention away from the racey magazine is the topic.

'Poor Daphne,' he says, not even bothering to look up from his magazine. 'You know, there's other ways to win the game than just catching the snitch.'

Draco raises an eyebrow. 'You and Millie?' he asks.

Vince grins, glancing up briefly. 'Yup.'

'Wait,' says Blaise, pausing as he flips through his book. ' _You've_ had sex?'

Vince considers this question for a moment, then shakes his head. 'Nah,' he says. 'Millie's…more of a chaser.' He shoots a wink at Draco, who smirks back.

'So, wait,' says Greg, shaking his head. 'You and Millie…do stuff? Like more than just snogging?'

'Yeah, loads.'

'Bullshit,' says Blaise, frowning in disbelief. 'Millie's not that sort of girl.'

Vince chuckles again. 'You'd be surprised,' he says. 'Daphne probably is too, if you gave her a chance. You just gotta let her take the lead. They like it that way. Makes them feel in control.' He pauses, and adds, 'but you can't be surprised about it, or she'll think you're judging her. It's like…you can lead a horse to water, but you can't push it in, you know?'

'I'm not sure that's how that metaphor goes…' says Blaise, shaking his head.

'How long has this been happening?' asks Greg, unaware that Vince and Millie had even moved beyond casual snogging and feeling a little left out of the loop.

He, Vince and Draco have always been friends—long before starting at Hogwarts—but it seems like lately none of them ever just…hung out. Not since their dorm had become a mess of secrets and hidden agendas. Greg misses just being able to talk to them.

Vince shrugs again. 'A while,' he says. 'I mean, it wasn't often at first. She was a bit nervous, so she didn't really like it. Well, I mean, she did, but she didn't.'

'Sure,' says Blaise dryly. 'Because that makes sense.'

'It does,' says Draco, leaning back on one hand. 'I mean, Theo said it, right? Girls are supposed to be classy.'

Theo glances up, eyebrows raised. It's the first time that Draco has even acknowledged Theo in weeks. Draco doesn't seem to notice, though. He's too focused on the conversation.

'So?' asks Blaise.

'So,' says Draco, his tone shifting toward condescending. 'This sort of thing probably makes them feel dirty. Like they're doing something they shouldn't be doing.'

'Right,' says Vince, nodding. 'That's why it's gotta be about her. You gotta make her feel good. Confident. Powerful. Give her the quaffle, so to speak.'

Blaise shakes his head. 'Okay, enough with the quidditch analogies, please.'

'Let her take the lead,' murmurs Draco, ignoring Blaise completely, his expression contemplative.

'I bet if you let Daphne take control,' says Vince, 'you'd be getting way more than just sex.'

' _Just_ sex?' scoffs Blaise, and he shakes his head. 'Isn't the whole point to…catch the snitch, as you so eloquently put it.'

'Thought you said that analogy was stupid?' Theo mutters, shaking his head.

'There's more than one way to win the game,' Draco says, repeating what Vince said earlier. 'If you score enough points.'

'What, hand jobs?' Blaise asks, scoffing. 'I'm sorry but in what universe are handies better than sex?'

'That's not what he's talking about,' says Draco, his tone just shy of impressed.

Theo abandons his essay, turning to look at Vince full on. 'Millie is giving you blow jobs?' he asks in surprise.

Blaise gapes. 'Bullshit.'

Vince smirks. 'Sure. Few times a week if I'm lucky.'

They all stare at him in varying degrees of disbelief and envy.

'I mean, at first she wasn't so sure,' admits Vince, shrugging. 'Can be a bit much for a girl, I think.'

Blaise snorts. 'I've seen you naked,' he says dryly, flicking his gaze over Vince. 'You're not that big.'

Vince throws his magazine at Blaise. 'Not that you twat,' Vince growls. 'I mean the end idiot. Finishing. She doesn't like that part.'

'But now she does?' asks Draco, leaning forward.

'Nah. She just switches to her hand when I get close.'

Blaise frowns. 'Wouldn't that kinda ruin the moment?'

Vince shrugs. 'Nah, not really. I mean at first, maybe. She wasn't very good at it,' he chuckles. 'She hasn't had as much practice.'

Draco and Blaise both snort.

'But once she got the hang of it,' says Vince, and whistles long and low. 'I tell you, way better than doing it yourself.'

There's a moment of silence. Greg shakes his head in mute disbelief. Who'd have thought it'd be _Vince_ who was the most experienced among them.

'Oh,' says Vince, tapping his magazine on his knee. 'Almost forgot the important part. You gotta make sure you return the favour.'

Greg frowns. 'What d'you mean?'

Draco rolls his eyes. 'C'mon Greg, think about it.'

Greg frowns for a moment, then he blanches. 'What, go…down there? With your _mouth_?'

'She went down there with _her_ mouth,' Draco points out, his expression shrewd.

Greg falters. 'Well…I guess…but…'

Vince chuckles. 'Trust me, if you do it right, it's loads of fun,' he says, and waggles his eyebrows. 'Way better than quidditch, anyway.'

Blaise snorts. 'Maybe, but I still don't see how that's better than sex.'

'That's because you only think about yourself,' says Vince, managing to sound confidently superior, even as he flicks his magazine back open to a double page spread of a woman's bare chest.

Greg wrinkles his nose, still not sure about that. Though, it's not like he'd know. He can't seem to get a girl to go out with him long enough to do anything more than snogging. He sighs and leans back, digging back through his bag of marshmallows as he considers the conversation.

He tosses the stupid bag aside and glances around the room, looking for a distraction.

Theo, predictably, has gone back to his essay. Likewise, Vince is pouring over his magazine again. Blaise is lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling with a frown, and Draco…

Draco is staring at Vince, a contemplative expression on his face, twirling his wand around and around in his hand. The way he always does when he's trying to puzzle something out.

Greg opens his mouth, about to ask if he wants to talk about it, but reconsiders.

Maybe they'd been close once, but, aside from this conversation, Draco hasn't spoken to any of them about anything significant in weeks. It's not just Theo anymore, it's all of them. Even Greg and Vince. As if, suddenly, they're people he has to be wary of.

So, Greg closes his mouth and pretends not to notice.


End file.
